


Entertaining Strangers

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hopeful Ending, M/M, No Hunting, POV Dean Winchester, Roommates, Slice of Life, angels & demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 05:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: There are angels all over the country. Dean has seen them on street corners, met them in bars, taken them to bed. He never expected to wind up with one sleeping on his couch, but he supposes stranger things have happened.





	Entertaining Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> so [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMjxyi0Xyt0) popped into my head for the first time in years and i felt like writing a fic loosely based on it and then things kind of...got out of hand?
> 
> i owe [kora](http://beenghosting.tumblr.com/) a million thanks for her editing work on this. she did the most incredibly thoughtful and thorough editing job, and this fic wouldn't be what it is without her help. (she also quoted hebrews 13:2 in one of her comments, so i have her to thank for the title, too!)
> 
> for this challenge i had the pleasure of working with [kuwlshadow](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/). you can see her lovely art [here](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/166733048223/)!
> 
> and with that, i hope you enjoy the fic!

> Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.
> 
> Hebrews 13:2

There are angels all over the country.

Dean saw his first one when he was four. He was sitting in the back of an ambulance, his dad a few feet away holding Sammy tight to his chest, and no one had told him yet that his mom was dead.

The angel stood a ways away, silently watching Dean’s house burn down. Her wings were a smoky gray mass hanging down her back, pooling around her feet. Dean stared hard at them, trying to keep them in focus, when the angel turned and looked at him. She met his eyes, and in the moment Dean noticed the tears streaming down her face, she turned and ran.

He doesn’t get it until later, about guardian angels. For a long time he hates her for disappearing the night his life started falling apart, for running and never looking back. He spends a lot of his teens imagining every terrible thing he would say to her, given the chance.

And then he gets older and his anger burns away and he just feels bad for her. If he ever saw her again, he’d tell her he’s sorry. That they just both got the short end of the stick and it’s nobody’s fault. That he wouldn’t want to be his guardian angel, either.

\--

Dean has seen a lot of angels by the time he returns to Lawrence nearly three decades later. Sometimes he realizes what they are when he catches glimpses of their wings in his peripheral vision, sees the light from their halos glimmering in their hair. Sometimes he figures it out when they greet him by a name he hasn’t told them, when they call up details about him that they shouldn’t have known. He knows what to look for, but sometimes they still manage to catch him by surprise.

For instance: Dean finds an angel lying in the street one night, nearly trips over him when he’s walking back from the corner store. Dean doesn’t realize he’s an an angel at first, thinks he’s just a guy who’d maybe partied a little too hard, maybe got left there by his piece of shit friends.

Dean kneels down next to him, shakes his shoulder gently until he gasps and opens his eyes, looking around wildly. “Hey, buddy,” Dean says. “You okay?”

The guy’s eyes land on Dean and he immediately squeezes them shut again, covering his face with his hands, trying to steady his breathing. “Rough night, huh?” Dean asks lightly.

The guy nods, palms still pressed against his eyes. He takes a few more deep breaths before he finally pulls his hands from his face. Dean holds out a hand and the guy takes it, allows himself to be pulled to sitting. He frowns at Dean, looking down at their clasped hands and then back up.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“About what?”

“About your--” He pauses, opens and closes his mouth as he lets go of Dean’s hand. “About everything.”

That’s when Dean figures it out.

He raises one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s totally your fault, right?”

The angel frowns again. “It wasn’t an admission of guilt,” he says. “Merely an expression of sympathy.”

Something softens in the angel’s face as Dean laughs, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

“What’s your name?” Dean asks.

“Castiel,” the angel says.

“Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Dean says. “I’m Dean.”

“I know who you are,” Castiel says, and lets himself be helped to his feet.

\--

They sit across from one another in a McDonald’s, Dean eating a hot fudge sundae while Castiel inhales the first of his four value menu cheeseburgers. The bright florescent lights highlight the dark circles under his eyes, the dirt under his fingernails, the wrinkles in his suit and trenchcoat.

“So, Castiel,” Dean says. “How’d you wind up in Lawrence?”

Castiel’s eyes widen as he chews, swallows. “Is that where we are? Kansas?”

“Yup,” Dean says.

“I--” Castiel starts. He frowns, grabs another cheeseburger. As he unwraps it, he says, “I don’t know. I was...quite a ways from here. And now here I am. I didn’t have much say in the matter.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “All right.” He digs back into his sundae.

“Really?” Castiel says, tilting his head.

“Yeah, why not?” Dean says. “Not the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Castiel considers him for a moment before grabbing another burger from the bag. When he finishes that one, too, he asks, “How about you?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you wind up here?”

“I was born here, but it, uh. Didn’t work out,” Dean says, taking another bite of his sundae. “Spent a lot of time after that moving around, living on the road, that kind of thing. But it just got to the point where...I dunno. Coming back here just seemed like the thing to do, I guess.”

Dean doesn’t know what he’s expecting Castiel to say to that, but it definitely isn’t, “Is it haunted?”

Dean laughs. “What?”

“Your childhood home.”

“Nah,” Dean says. “It’s not there any more. I went by when I first got back, just to, y’know.” He shrugs. “Somebody tore it down, replaced it with something newer. Doesn’t look anything like the pictures I have of it.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. Then, “I’m sorry.”

“You really gotta stop apologizing to me, dude,” Dean says. He pauses, finishes off the rest of his ice cream, sets the empty container to the side. “And anyway, it’s probably for the best. New house there, new family, fresh start.”

“And what about you?” Castiel asks.

“What about me?”

“Did you get a fresh start in a new home?”

Dean forces a laugh, scratches at the back of his neck. “I, uh...not quite. I couldn’t exactly get a house in my old neighborhood, you know? They don’t loan that kind of money to people with my credit history. Or just my history, period.”

“Oh,” Castiel says again. “I’m sorr--” He catches himself, mouth snapping shut.

Dean smiles wryly. “So it goes.”

Castiel perks up a little at that. “Vonnegut?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “You a fan?” Castiel nods. “Nice. What’s your favorite?”

“ _The Sirens of Titan_ ,” Castiel says.

“Wow, that one’s a downer,” Dean says.

“I found it to be very hopeful, actually,” Castiel says. “But I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. And you?”

“ _Cat’s Cradle_.”

“A fan of the apocalypse, then?”

Dean laughs. “Okay, fair. I guess I’m not really in any position to call _Sirens_ a downer.”

Castiel grins as he unwraps another cheeseburger, falling silent as he eats. In the meantime, Dean keeps trying to catch sight of Castiel’s wings in his peripheral vision. He runs through all of his usual strategies: looking off to the side, letting his eyes go unfocused, keeping them half closed.

“Dean?” Castiel says.

Dean straightens in his seat, looks at Castiel directly. “Uh, sorry,” he says. “I don’t wanna be rude, but, um-- you’re an angel, right?”

Castiel’s eyes widen a little. He tilts his head a little to the side and squints at Dean. “Yes,” he says. “You’ve...met others? Like me?”

Dean thinks of all the other angels he’s met, chuckling to himself. “Well, maybe not quite like you, but yeah, they’re all over the country.” He tilts his head toward the door. “One works at the gas station down the street, actually.”

“How can you tell?”

“Not everyone can,” Dean says. “Some people can see their wings and stuff, though. My brother, he could see them looking at them straight on, but I’ve gotta kinda look off to the side.”

“That’s what you were doing earlier.”

“Yeah. Sorry if it was, uh. Kinda rude.”

“No, it’s all right,” Castiel says. He takes another bite before asking, “Did it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you see them?” Castiel says.

“No, couldn’t seem to manage it this time.”

“Hmm,” Castiel says, going kind of still, setting down his burger.

“You wanna elaborate?”

Castiel thinks about it for a bit, and then he says, “No.” He picks his burger back up.

“All right.” As he watches Castiel eat, he leans his head on his hand and says, “What’s it like, being an angel? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s...complicated.”

Dean snorts. “I feel you.”

Castiel shrugs. “I was a soldier,” he says. “A commander, for a time. A brilliant strategist, by some accounts. For millennia, I watched only from a distance. And then I left heaven for the first time, and it was...a bit of a shock.”

“Rough transition?” Dean asks.

“Yes.”

“That sucks,” Dean says. He purses his lips and asks, “Do the cheeseburgers help?”

Castiel smiles as he tosses the crumpled wrappers into the empty bag. “The cheeseburgers help.”

\--

As the the door swings closed behind them, Dean turns to Castiel and holds out his hand. “Hey, it was nice meeting you, Castiel.”

Castiel takes Dean’s hand, shakes it. He smiles at Dean, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He says, “Thank you for the food.”

“No problem,” Dean says. “Take care.”

“Take care,” Castiel echos.

Dean turns and walks away, gets all the way to the end of the block and hits the button for the crosswalk. As he waits, he turns back around. Castiel is still there, sitting on the bench outside the McDonald’s. He has his elbows resting on his knees, and as Dean watches, he pulls his phone from his pocket, fiddles with it for a moment, then sighs as he gives up and puts it away.

In the light from the streetlamp, Dean can finally see Castiel’s halo. The last dim remnants of it are flaking off, floating down and coming to a rest on the sidewalk.

Dean hesitates for a moment, chewing his lip. He sticks his hands in his jacket pockets and walks back towards Castiel.

Castiel looks up as he approaches. “Dean?” he says, brow furrowed.

“Hey,” Dean says. “You have a place to go tonight?”

Castiel looks back down at the ground, shakes his head.

“Well, uh, listen,” Dean says, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s not much, but you’re welcome to crash on my couch if you want.”

“I...” Castiel says. “Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” Dean says.

A slow smile spreads across Castiel’s face as he meets Dean’s gaze. “That’s very generous of you,” he says, standing. “Thank you.”

\--

As he leads Castiel to his front door, Dean is acutely aware of exactly how shady his apartment building must look to anyone not used to seeing it every day. You could slap a neon sign on the side offering low weekly rates at the _Starlite Motel_ and it’d look just like the seedy places you can find on the edge of town, the type he’s desensitized to after spending so much of his life living out of them.

Dean fiddles with the keys in his pocket, mutters out an apology as they walk up the stairs. “I promise it’s not as bad as it looks once you get inside.”

“What’s not as bad as it looks?” Castiel says.

Dean laughs uneasily. “Thanks for that,” he says as he unlocks the door and steps inside, turning on the light. “So, here it is.” He leads Castiel to the left, gesturing as he goes. “Hall closet’s here. It’s mostly empty, so feel free to put your stuff in there. Bathroom’s this way.” He flips the switch. “Towels under the sink. Oh, and the shower’s kinda wonky. I think they put it together wrong or something, ‘cause hot and cold are opposite of what it says on the dial.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Castiel says.

Dean nods, leading Castiel back out into the hallway. “Kitchen’s here,” he says, gesturing towards the open doorway, “and living room’s this way.”

Castiel follows him into the main room, takes in Dean’s setup -- the secondhand couch and coffee table, the ancient TV, the threadbare carpet. “It’s a one-bedroom,” Dean adds, hooking his thumb towards the closed door to his room, “so you’ve got the couch. Oh, by the way, the couple nextdoor have a toddler. She can scream bloody murder when she gets in a mood, so there’s earplugs in the bathroom drawer if you need them.”

“Noted,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

“Cool,” Dean says, shifting from one foot to another. “Anyway, uh. Still got a couple hours before I need to head to bed. You like movies?”

“Sure,” Castiel says.

“Awesome. Me, too.”

Castiel looks pointedly at Dean’s shelf of DVDs and the posters on his walls, _Star Wars_ and _Star Trek_ , _Indiana Jones_ and _Die Hard_ and _Lord of the Rings_ , before turning back to look at him. “I never would have guessed,” he deadpans.

“All right, smartass,” Dean says, chuckling. “Just for that, I get to choose.”

\--

This is how Dean learns that Castiel is not a morning person: He wanders into the kitchen the next day and finds Castiel fighting desperately with the coffeemaker.

He laughs and says, “I’m here to rescue you.”

Castiel gives the coffee maker one last scowl and then grumbles, “Good morning, Dean.”

“Mornin’,” Dean says. He gestures to the table. “Go sit, I’ll get some coffee started and make us some breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. He takes a seat, folds his arms on the table and puts his head down while Dean gets some coffee brewing and pulls out a few slices of bread, the last of the bacon and eggs. He lets Castiel sit in peace while he cooks, interrupting him only when the coffee is done. “Cream? Sugar?” he asks as he sets a mug in front of him.

Castiel lifts his head from his arms, shakes it _No_ , picks up the coffee without opening his eyes, takes a slow sip, and sighs with pleasure.

Dean grins and goes back to cooking. By the time he sets a plate in front of Castiel, he at least looks passably alert.

As they both start eating their breakfast, Dean gives Castiel a proper once-over, looks beyond his tired expression and bedhead to his rumpled suit. He frowns and says, mouth half full of bacon, “Dude, did you sleep in those clothes?”

Castiel looks down at himself, then back up at Dean. “Yes?” he says. “These are the only clothes I have.”

“Oh,” Dean says. He drags a hand down his face and mutters, “Well, I’m an idiot.”

“Hmm?” Castiel says, looking up from trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt.

“Sorry, man,” he says. “I just, uh. Didn’t think of that.”

“There’s no need to apo--”

“Anyway,” Dean interrupts, “I don’t have time to take you to the store right now, so, uh...You can borrow some of mine if you want.”

Castiel considers him for a moment, and then he says, “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate it.”

Dean nods. He finishes his last few bites of food, rinses his dishes and puts them in the dishwasher. He says, “Hey, so, I gotta go to work. You sticking around?”

“I would like to,” Castiel says. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sure, no problem,” Dean says.

Castiel nods, smiling, and returns to his food. Dean waves a lazy goodbye and heads out the door.

There are angels all over the county, but now there’s one in Dean’s apartment.

\--

When Dean gets back from work that evening, he finds Castiel sitting on the couch, watching TV in pajama pants and a well loved t-shirt. Dean hadn’t realized how different their builds were while Castiel was drowning in all the layers of his suit, but now that he’s wearing Dean’s clothes, it’s painfully obvious. He looks like he’s about to rip them apart at the seams, and as soon as Dean gives him a once-over, he bursts into laughter.

Castiel quirks his head at him and says, “What did I do?” Dean just shakes his head helplessly, so Castiel continues, “Did I choose poorly? I tried to--”

“No, no,” Dean interrupts. “You look great, man.”

Castiel smiles and visibly relaxes.

Dean adds, “It’s just like-- it’s like I’m super saiyan 2 and you’re super saiyan 1.5.” 

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him, so Dean says, “Yeah, it’s probably for the best you don’t get that reference. Anyway, don’t sweat it. We’ll go get you your own stuff tomorrow.”

\--

Dean is slow to get up, waking late and lying in bed, fiddling around on his phone. He checks his bank balance, stomach twisting at the double digits, before closing the app and opening his email. He smiles when he sees he has a new message from Charlie.

> Charlie Bradbury  
>  To: Dean Winchester  
>  Subject: RE: sup
> 
> I SWEAR I’M NOT IGNORING YOU OMG
> 
> i’m still in grad school hell but i’m gonna be done soon and i promise after that it won’t take me a million years to respond to emails!!!!!
> 
> also I MISS YOU and we’re totally gonna hang out once i’m a free elf. speaking of which have i told you this kickass idea i have for a new d&d campaign??? it came to me in a dream, i shit you not. and spoilers: it’s amazing.
> 
> ANYWAY i gotta run to class (shocker, i know) but let me know how you’re doing okay?
> 
> p.s. don’t forget that i love you

Dean sits up so he can type without dropping his phone on his face and shoots her a quick response:

> Dean Winchester  
>  To: Charlie Bradbury  
>  Subject: RE: sup
> 
> hey dude I get it, don’t even sweat it. focus on grad school, I know you’re gonna kick ass.
> 
> I’m same as always. I maybe have a roommate now? I dunno, I’ll tell you if it works out I guess.
> 
> gonna hold you to that on the campaign idea.
> 
> p.s. I know

He smiles as he hits send, pocketing his phone as he gets out of bed.

\--

Castiel stares after Dean pulls the cover off the Impala. Dean smiles to himself, warmth spreading through his chest.

“She was my dad’s,” Dean says. “Don’t have an excuse to drive her much, what with the terrible gas mileage and all, but.” He shrugs. “She’s a 1967, 327 four barrel, 275 horses. Nothing sweeter than the sound of her engine.” He pats a hand on her hood as Castiel nods politely. “You don’t know shit about cars, huh?” Dean asks, grinning.

“Not a thing,” Castiel says, and Dean laughs. “I like hearing you talk about her, though,” he adds. He traces his fingers over the chrome around the window. “She’s beautiful, Dean. You’ve taken very good care of her.”

Dean feels his face flush. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes as he unlocks the door. “Get in, we don’t have all day.”

\--

The Walmart is surprisingly busy for a weekday morning. They dodge other customers as they make their way to the men’s section, Dean waving off an employee who cheerfully asks them if they need help finding anything.

“Figured we’d stop here to get the stuff you only ever want firsthand, y’know?” Dean says, keeping his voice low as he leads Castiel down one of the aisles. “Boxers and socks and whatever.” He scans the prices, pointing to a row of Hanes. “Hey, these ones are on sale.”

Castiel nods as he considers the selection, picking out a few packs. “Are we going to get pants and shirts here as well?”

Dean scratches at the back of his neck. “Nah, that’s a ripoff,” he says. He hooks a thumb towards the self checkout lanes. “Why pay full price if you don’t gotta, you know?” Castiel nods as they walk towards the front of the store.

Their next stop is Goodwill. Dean wanders along behind as Castiel browses the shirts. “So, yeah,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “The men’s sections at these places are always kinda sad, so there’s, um. I think a few other places around town we can check out, y’know, if we need to.”

Castiel _hmm_ s thoughtfully. He pulls out a plaid shirt with a color combo Dean might generously call _ugly_. “How about this one?” Castiel says, looking up at Dean. “It’s like some of the ones you have.”

“Uhhh,” Dean says. “I mean. You should get whatever you like.”

Castiel _hmm_ s again, and Dean breathes a quiet sigh of relief as he releases the shirt to continue looking. He skips over plenty of socially acceptable options to pull out a Hawaiian shirt comprised of a patchwork of four different patterns, the prints and colors clashing horribly. “How about this?” he says.

“It, uh,” Dean says. “Has a lot of personality?”

Castiel nods thoughtfully. The next shirt he pulls out is a Christmas sweater prominently featuring a reindeer with a pom-pom for a nose. “And this one?”

Dean looks up just in time to see the slight smile tugging at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “Okay,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re messing with me.”

Castiel laughs quietly to himself as he goes back through the rack of shirts. This time around, he chooses some button-downs in solid colors and simple patterns, some soft sweaters, a few t-shirts. They move on to the pants next, Castiel picking out a few pairs of slacks and jeans. He pauses with a hand on some warning-sign yellow pants that zip off into shorts.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean threatens.

Castiel grins and, mercifully, pulls his hands away from them.

After another pass to find some pajamas, Castiel goes to try everything on. He winds up with a decent selection, carrying his armful of clothing to the cashier. As she rings everything up, Dean watches the total rise, heart racing, until finally he forces himself to look away, pretend to be interested in the cars driving past outside. He misses the cashier telling him the total, and it’s only at her insistent “Sir?” that he turns back toward the register. He swipes his card and signs the screen without looking at it, crumpling the receipt the cashier hands him and shoving it into his pocket as they head for the car.

Before Dean can make his way to the driver’s side, Castiel stops him with a touch to his elbow. He waits for Dean to turn back towards him before he says, “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s-- I mean, it’s just some secondhand clothes. It’s no big de--” He stops when he catches the way Castiel is looking at him, smiling faintly. “I mean,” he mumbles. “You’re welcome.”

Castiel nods, satisfied, and pulls his hand away as he moves to get into the passenger seat. Dean settles behind the wheel, turning on the car and cranking the A/C.

\--

Each day Dean gets home from work, the apartment is a little cleaner.

It’s not that he leaves it a mess. It’s just that there are certain things he never has the energy to do. He comes home one day and Castiel has scrubbed around the sinks, removed all the really tenacious gunk that was collecting in the nooks and crannies. The next, he’s managed to get several months’ worth of dust off the baseboards. The next, it’s the grout.

It makes it that much harder to do what he needs to do.

He looks at his phone as he walks home from work, stares at the single-digit balance, counts out the number of days left until his next paycheck. It won’t be enough to make any real difference, and for a fleeting moment, he considers disappearing again. Using his last few dollars to put some more gas in the Impala and seeing how far it’ll get him. But even if things didn’t have a way of catching up with him, he figures that’d be a pretty dick move, leaving Castiel to wonder what the fuck happened to him.

Instead, he pockets his phone and heads into the corner store.

The angel is at the register. As he grabs a can of beer from the fridge, they give him the same cool, appraising look as always.

“Hey, uh--” he sets his can on the counter and glances down at the angel’s cheap plastic name tag-- “Hannah.” He pulls out his card, shaking it in front of his face as they scan the barcode. “I promise it’ll work this time.”

“Mmm,” Hannah says. “That’ll be two seventeen.”

Dean looks down as he swipes his card. With his focus on the screen, he can see Hannah’s wings behind them, pulled close to their body so they don’t disturb the rows of cigarettes on the back wall. They’re dull gray in the glare of the florescent lights, rippling slightly as the machine beeps at Dean to tell him his payment went through.

“Have a nice day,” Hannah says flatly, handing him his receipt.

“Thanks,” Dean says, grabbing his beer and heading outside.

\--

Dean throws his empty can in the trash and puts his travel mug by the sink, stomach twisting when he notices Castiel has taken care of the dishes he left that morning.

He makes his way into the living room, where Castiel is sitting in his usual spot on the couch, watching TV as he eats a bowl of cereal. He stops a few feet away, standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry it’s just the local channels,” Dean says, by way of greeting. “Cable is a ripoff. What’ve you found to watch?”

“The news,” Castiel says. “And a lot of _Law and Order_. It seems like it’s always on.”

“Yeah, you gotta be careful with that,” Dean says. “Spend too much time watching that shit and you’ll start wondering if maybe we’re living in the darkest timeline.”

Castiel doesn’t look up as he says, with certainty, “No, that’s not what this is. Not even close.”

“Okay,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow. “Well, in that case, suit yourself.”

“However,” Castiel says, “I do question its accuracy. I’m fairly certain this isn’t how your legal system works.”

“No shit,” Dean says, laughing. “I’ll have to introduce you to some _Schoolhouse Rock_ once I finally fork over the cash to get my laptop up and running.” He winces as soon as he says it, shifts from one foot to the other as he runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, listen, on a related note, uh.” He pauses long enough that Castiel looks up at him, frowning slightly. He looks away, down at the empty mug sitting on the coffee table. “Look, I know I told you you could stay as long as you wanted, and there’s no easy way for me to tell you this, so, uh--”

“I understand,” Castiel interrupts, and when Dean looks up, Castiel is staring down at his bowl, setting it carefully on the coffee table. He takes a deep breath, starting to stand, and says, “I didn’t mean to overstay my welcome. I’ll--”

“Dude, wait, no,” Dean says, hands outstretched. “That’s not what I--” Castiel looks back up at him, confused and hopeful, and Dean looks away again, addresses the rest of his explanation to the floor. “I had some, um. Unexpected expenses come up recently,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And I’m already behind on my rent and frankly don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to stay here, and I know from experience that living out of a car isn’t that comfortable, so. I just wanted to, y’know. Let you know. In the interest of full disclosure or whatever.” He’s met with silence, and when he looks back at Castiel after a few long seconds, Castiel is simply regarding him steadily. Heat flushes up his neck, across his face. “Dude, say something.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, “for telling me.” He picks his bowl up again, settles back into the couch, brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” Dean says, bewildered. “No problem.” He takes a seat next to Castiel and half-watches TV as Castiel finishes his cereal in silence.

\--

Dean lies in bed and tries to convince himself he should still give a shit about going into work. The problem is that he’s run through a dozen different scenarios, and he doesn’t see how he’s not going to wind up being evicted no matter how many hours he spends getting yelled at by people who can’t figure out how to turn their modems off and on again. He snoozes his alarm four times before he manages to talk himself into getting up and giving it his best effort, anyway, even if for no other reason than to say he tried.

When he finally drags himself out of bed, he finds Castiel already up, sitting at the kitchen table and rubbing at his eyes as he eats his breakfast.

“Still fighting with the coffeemaker?” Dean asks. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth in spite of himself.

Castiel grunts in response. Dean huffs a laugh and gets a pot started before he hops in the shower.

\--

Dean makes it to work with thirty seconds to spare.

“Hey,” Victor says, leaning to look past his computer screens as Dean clocks in. “Had me worried for a minute there.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Dean says, making his way to his cubicle. “You know me, I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to be yelled at for eight hours a day.”

“Don’t get too excited, now,” Victor says, grinning.

Dean chuckles as he sits. “Seriously, though,” he says, smile fading, “you know I owe you for getting me this job. I’m not gonna screw it up.” He puts on his headset. “Anyway, time for my regularly scheduled clobbering.”

Victor laughs. “You’re welcome,” he says, turning back to his own computer.

\--

“Hey, Castiel, I’m home,” Dean calls as he opens the door. He frowns when he doesn’t get a response, tossing his keys on the counter before venturing into the living room.

Castiel’s blanket is carefully folded where it sits on the coffee table, and his shoes have disappeared from their usual spot by the couch. The TV is off, his apartment eerily quiet without the background noise.

“Castiel?” he tries again, heading back towards the bathroom. The door is open, the interior dark and unused.

“Figures,” he says, sighing.

\--

Dean is halfway through a bowl of mac and cheese when there’s a knock at his door. He gets up, grumbling to himself, and stops in his tracks when he pulls open the door to find Castiel standing in front of him.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh.”

“I don’t have a key,” Castiel says. He hesitates, shifts from one foot to the other and back again before he asks, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, man, of course,” Dean says, stepping to the side to let Castiel by, closing the door behind him. “Sorry, not used to having a roommate. I’ll get a key made for you tomorrow, all right?”

“All right,” Castiel says, smiling faintly. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You hungry? I made some of that horrible store brand mac and cheese.”

“That’s the best kind,” Castiel says seriously. He makes his way into the kitchen to get himself a bowl as Dean grabs his half-finished food from the living room. As they take a seat across from one another at the kitchen table, Castiel says, “I got a job at the corner store.”

“Oh, hey, that’s awesome,” Dean says. “Congrats.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says again. “And I think I met the angel you were talking about.”

“Hannah?”

Castiel nods.

“Yeah, I don’t think they like me much,” Dean says.

Castiel shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t think they much like anyone.”

Dean laughs. “Well, who knows,” he says. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“Maybe,” Castiel says.

As they lapse into silence, eating their mac and cheese, Dean does the math. Assuming Castiel is making about what Dean makes, and they don’t screw him on hours, he might be able to afford a deposit on his own place by the time--

“Dean?” Castiel says.

“Hmm?”

“You were, um…” Castiel frowns, gestures at his face with his spoon.

“Oh, sorry, spaced out for a second there.” Dean forces a laugh. “Anyway, that really is great. It’ll be good for you to get out of the house, huh? Anyone would go crazy sitting around this piece of shit apartment all day.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “It’s not a ‘piece of shit,’ Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah? You seen a lot of apartments?”

“No,” Castiel admits.

“Trust me on this one,” Dean says. “Anyway, when do you start?”

Castiel looks at Dean for a moment, unblinking. Eventually he looks back down at his food, takes another bite and says, “Tomorrow. One to ten.”

“Cool,” Dean says. “I’ll have the key ready for you by the time you get back.”

\--

Dean heads to Home Depot to make a key as soon as Castiel heads to work. It sits heavy in his pocket on the drive back to his apartment.

He sets it on the coffee table as he makes himself lunch, glances at it throughout the day as he watches episode after episode of _Family Feud_ and _People’s Court_ reruns.

He checks the time on his phone as it gets closer and closer to ten. At nine-thirty, he gets up to leave the door unlocked for Castiel, then pens a note and leaves it on the coffee table with the key:

> Castiel-
> 
> Decided to turn in early.
> 
> This one’s all yours.
> 
> -Dean

\--

Castiel is busy with a line of customers when Dean gets to the corner store, his back turned as he scans the rows of cigarettes. The woman at the register has a can-I-speak-to-your-manager haircut and is complaining loudly, “No, I said the _ultra_ lights.”

Castiel’s fingers twitch as he moves his hand from one pack of cigarettes to the next. “These?” he asks, shoulders rising and falling as he takes a measured breath.

Dean cringes with secondhand embarrassment. “Yikes,” he mutters under his breath, turning to head down one of the aisles.

The row of snacks is in complete disarray, candy bars and gum and beef jerky thrown haphazardly onto the shelves. “Lazy assholes,” Dean says, picking up one item after another and putting them back in their rightful places. Satisfied, he makes his way back towards the register to wait his turn in line.

When the person in front of him finally moves out of the way, there’s a moment where Castiel is still looking down at his register. “Hello,” he starts, in the same pleasant fake tone Dean has heard from retail workers in over forty different states. “Did you find--” He stops as he looks up and sees Dean, breaking into a grin. “Oh,” he says, in his normal voice. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean says. “So, uh, I’m not actually buying anything. But if your lunch break is coming up soon, I was thinking I could show you where the park is?”

“I’d like that,” Castiel says. He glances up at the clock on the wall. “Give me twenty minutes?”

\--

All of the tables in Centennial Park are taken, filled with families picnicking and, in one case, playing an intense game of _Candy Land_. They find a spot nearby instead, sitting in the shade with their backs against the tree as they look around. There are patches of wildflowers blooming all across the park, and nearby, a toddler lies in the middle of a swathe of purple, giggling up at her mother. In the distance, a group of college-age kids is engaged in a match of ultimate frisbee.

“This is nice,” Castiel says, smiling. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, tension draining from his shoulders. “I should come here every day.”

“It’ll be nice for another six months or so,” Dean says. “It gets pretty miserable around November, though, so you might want a plan B for the winter.”

“Noted,” Castiel says, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Anyway, how’s work?” Dean asks.

Castiel chews thoughtfully for a moment. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve done.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I feel that. I’ve gotten pretty good at soft handling people, but sometimes nothing you do is gonna stop ‘em from talking to you like you’re an idiot, y’know?”

“I do,” Castiel says. “Unfortunately. It’s all right, though. There’s a certain satisfaction helping people in some small way. Even if that means not screaming at them in return.”

“They really like to make it a challenge sometimes.”

“True. Today was a prime example,” Castiel says. “It was just me this morning, but it’s not quite so bad when there’s more than one of us there.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks. “You making friends?”

Castiel nods. “Hannah’s calm loathing is strangely comforting.”

Dean laughs. “I bet,” he says. “Work’s easier when my friend Victor’s there, too. Helps to have someone to commiserate with.”

“Or to complain to over lunch,” Castiel says.

“That, too,” Dean says, grinning.

\--

They fall into a routine. Sometimes they work different shifts and don’t see each other all day; others, their schedules line up well enough that they’ll eat meals and watch TV together. Some days, Dean is even tired enough or distracted enough that he forgets to check his account balance at all.

Of course, when he gets home from work to find a letter taped to his door, that’s a little harder to ignore.

He stands there staring at it until the door two apartments over opens. One of the college kids who lives there pulls the other out onto the walkway, both of them smiling and laughing. Dean glances up just in time to meet the eyes of the taller girl. As she elbows her roommate, they both fall silent.

“Hey, man, sorry,” she says. “Hope everything works out.”

Dean laughs humorlessly. “Stay in school.” He tears the notice off the door swallowing hard as he goes inside.

He’s greeted by the sound of water running through the pipes, so he heads into the kitchen to make himself dinner while Castiel finishes showering. He tosses the letter onto the counter, sighing and running his hands through his hair before he grabs a bowl for cereal.

When he opens the fridge, he freezes.

Dean had stood right there this morning and sighed to himself as he contemplated the entirety of the fridge’s contents: the nearly empty gallon of milk, the few slices of cheese and lunch meat, the jars of mayo and grape jelly. Now there’s other shit in there, too: eggs and bacon and strawberry jam, a package of ground beef and another of chicken, lettuce and tomatoes, carrots and broccoli and a bag of spinach, ranch dressing and ketchup and mustard. When he opens the pantry, there are english muffins in there with the bread, and peanut butter and potato chips and three different flavors of cereal and--

“I picked up some groceries on my way home from work,” Castiel says from behind him. Dean startles, nearly closes the cabinet on his own hand.

“Jesus, Castiel, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Dean says. He turns towards him, meaning to say, “I can see that, thanks,” but instead he freezes with his mouth half open. Castiel is standing just outside the kitchen, towel held loosely around his waist, hair still damp from the shower.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says.

“At least make yourself decent first,” Dean says, pulling the hand towel from where it hangs on the oven and tossing it at Castiel’s face.

Castiel catches it with his free hand, laughing softly as he heads back towards the bathroom to grab some of his clothes from the hall closet. Dean takes a seat at the kitchen table and busies himself with checking his emails until Castiel reemerges, fully clothed but hair still a mess.

He leans against the pantry and says, “Okay, now can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, shoot,” Dean says, setting his phone on the table

“Are we friends?”

“Uh,” Dean says. “I mean. Yeah?” He shifts in his seat. “Why?”

“First,” he says, “my friends call me Cas.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “I can do that.”

“And second,” Castiel says. He turns around and reaches up to slide something off the top of the fridge. He hands it to Dean and says, “Here.”

“What’s this?” Dean asks, looking down at the envelope. When he opens it, he finds a small stack of cash inside, what looks to be at least a few hundred dollars.

Castiel sits across from him at the table. “For the rent,” he says.

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. Swallows hard. “Castiel,” he says, finally. “I can’t take this.”

Castiel folds his hands together. “Yes,” he says. “You can.”

“Um,” Dean says.

“This is what friends do,” Castiel says.

Dean swallows a few more times, clears his throat. “Listen, they didn’t-- they didn’t pay you in cash, did they, because that’s-- that’s--”

“No,” Castiel says. “I got the check cashed at the place across the street from work.”

Dean groans. “Castiel-- Cas. Those places are sketchy as hell.” Castiel huffs. “We’ll-- listen, we’ll get you a bank account, okay? We can go, uh. Whenever we’re next off at the same time, get you all set up.”

“All right,” Castiel says.

Dean looks down at the table as he nods. He gestures vaguely with the envelope. “If, uh. If there’s anything I can do to um, repay the favor--”

“You’ve done more than enough for me, Dean,” Castiel says. He pauses, tilts his head thoughtfully. “Though...if you wanted to make cheeseburgers for dinner…”

When Dean looks up, Castiel is leaning back in his chair, smiling smugly. Dean rolls his eyes as he gets up from the table to pull the beef out of the fridge. “Can’t take the strategy out of the strategist, huh?”

“Old habits,” Cas says, still smiling.

\--

Dean worked up the courage to pick up an angel for the first time when he was twenty-two. He doesn’t even remember what state he was in, had spent so much time crisscrossing the country by that point that all the bars blurred together.

The angel spent the better part of an hour watching from the corner booth as Dean nursed one beer, then another, then another. Dean watched the TV hanging on the wall above him. Keeping his eyes focused there, above and a little to the left, he could see the angel’s wings spreading around him on the seat, disappearing into the shadows under the table.

Dean finished his last beer, then knocked back a shot and sauntered over, leaned against the table with his arms crossed.

“You keep looking at a guy like that,” Dean said, “he’s gonna start thinking he’s something special.”

The angel snorted a laugh, met Dean’s gaze. “You could have been,” he said, mouth turned up at one corner. “But not here, not now. Here, you’re just as boring as everyone else, myself included.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Dean said without heat, laughing, and then, “You wanna get out of here?”

Dean took him back to his pay-by-the-hour motel room. They undressed one another in the space between the door and the bed, so fast it felt like magic. Dean spread the angel out on his bed, pressed against him and into him. He squinted in the lamplight, reached out tentatively to run his hand through the space where the angel’s wings sparked in the air, gasping in surprise as static electricity tingled against his palm.

As he dug his fingers into the angel’s back where his wings met his skin, the angel groaned, arching against him. When he came, the lights flickered.

Dean tells Cas the story all in a rush, sparing him the more graphic details. He’d finally caught up on the rent and celebrated by picking up Chinese food and beer on his way home. It’s only after he stops talking that he realizes how flushed he feels, that he notices his three empty cans to Cas’ one.

“What was his name?” Cas asks.

“Uriel,” Dean says. Cas breathes in sharply. “You know him?”

Cas keeps his gaze fixed on the TV, knocks back the rest of his beer. “No,” he says. “I don’t.”

\--

“What was it like?” Dean asks, looking at Cas across the kitchen table. “Heaven, I mean.”

Cas frowns down at his food. “Well,” he says, twisting his fork in his pasta, “I haven’t been there in a long time. It may be different now.”

“If it helps, I’ve never been, so it’s not like I’m gonna correct you.”

“It’s not terribly exciting,” Cas says, shrugging. “Everyone gets their own personal heaven, a replica of a place that holds some special meaning to them. If people are soul mates, they share.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “What’s it like for angels?”

Cas stills. He hesitates before he says, “Not terribly interesting, I’m afraid. It’s just the place we go when we aren’t here.”

“So it’s your home?” Dean says.

“Sort of,” Cas says. He shifts. “Anyway, have you met many other angels besides Uriel? Didn’t they tell you anything about it?”

“Yeah, I’ve met my fair share,” Dean says. “Didn’t really feel comfortable asking them about it, though.”

“Oh?” Cas says.

Dean nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not just the kind of thing you ask people about, you know?”

“Some of the customers who can see Hannah’s wings seem more than happy to ask all manner of rude questions,” Cas says, a bitter edge to his voice.

Dean grimaces. “Yeah, okay, touche. Angel or human, treating retail workers like shit is par for the course, I guess.”

“It certainly seems that way,” Cas says.

“You get a lot like that?”

“A few,” Cas says. “How common is it? For humans to be able to see--” he gestures to himself-- “us?”

Dean shrugs. “Don’t think anyone’s done an official study or anything like that. But supposedly a lot of people can see halos and wings and stuff when they’re kids, and then it kinda fades away after a while. For some of us, though, it sticks around.”

“Hmm,” Cas says. “And you aren’t afraid?”

“Of what?” Dean says.

“Of us.”

“Why would we be?” Dean says. “All the angels I’ve met have just been living their lives like the rest of us, you know? Like you and Hannah. Or like, one time, must have been nearly a decade ago now, I met this angel named Anna--”

“Anna?” Cas interrupts. “What...what did she look like?”

“Bright red hair down to here,” Dean says, holding his hand against his stomach, “and wings to match. It’s probably a good thing I couldn’t look at those straight on, actually.”

“Anael,” Cas says quietly.

“Yeah?” Dean says. “You--”

“I’ve heard of her,” Cas says. “Anyway--” he gestures with his fork-- “continue.”

Dean shrugs. “Not a lot to tell. She ran a bar with her girlfriend, and at first I thought it was just a gimmick, you know, something to bring customers in, an angel and a demon running a--”

“Wait,” Cas says. “What? You’ve met demons, too?”

“Mmhmm,” Dean says, taking a bite of his alfredo. “All over the place. You haven’t?”

“Not in the way you have,” Cas says.

Dean frowns at him. “You been living under a rock or something?”

“Effectively, yes,” Cas says. “The night we met was the first time I’ve been to this world.”

“Yeah? In how long?”

“Ever.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “Well, that explains some things.”

Cas sighs. “I know sometimes I come across as--” he raises his free hand, lets it fall back to the table-- “odd.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Dean says. “I’d say you’ve been doing pretty great, considering the circumstances.”

“Mmm,” Cas says. “At any rate. Demons.”

“Yeah.”

“What is it that you see? When you look at them?”

“Smoke, mostly. Swirling under their skin. Pretty trippy thing to catch out of the corner of your eye when you’re not expecting it.” He gestures to the top of his head. “And horns, sometimes.”

“What kind of horns?”

Dean shrugs. “Depends on the demon.”

“Huh,” Castiel says. He pauses, taps his fingers against the table. “What about monsters?”

Dean scoffs. “What, like vampires and werewolves and stuff?”

Cas smiles, raising one eyebrow. “You have no problem accepting the existence of angels and demons, but you scoff at the idea of monsters?”

“Yeah, okay, I guess you’ve got a point,” Dean says. “And to be fair, some people do think they’re real.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but it’s all just conspiracy theory stuff that no one’s ever been able to prove. People have seen angels and demons, you know? _I’ve_ seen them. But monsters?” Dean shrugs. “I mean, c’mon, if they existed, a ton of people would have seen ‘em, right?”

“Maybe that’s exactly it,” Cas says. “Maybe they look just like people.”

Dean taps his fork against his plate, pursing his lips. “Well,” he says eventually, “if that were the case, I figure it wouldn’t make much of a difference. I mean, hell, if my boss was a shapeshifter or something, who cares as long as they’re not hurting anyone, right?”

“Fair enough,” Cas says. “So the angels and demons...they don’t cause problems?”

“Nothing worse than good old vanilla mortals do,” Dean says. “I mean, the patrons probably caused more problems than Ruby ever did.”

Cas looks up at him, tilts his head thoughtfully. “Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Cause problems.”

Dean laughs. “Nah, not this time,” he says. “I just wound up hanging out there when I didn’t have anywhere else to go. We all knew they weren’t going to offer to let me sleep on their couch or anything, but they let me stick around after closing while they cleaned up.”

“And?”

“Turns out it wasn’t just a gimmick. They wouldn’t give me much more than that, though. I asked them how they met, and Ruby said ‘It’s a hell of a story,’ but Anna wasn’t having it. Think she said something about Ruby just wanting to tell it because it made her sound awesome.”

“And what did Ruby have to say to that?”

Dean grins. “She said, ‘I _am_ awesome.’ And then they finished closing up and kicked me out.”

“Have you seen them since?” Cas asks.

“Nah,” Dean says. “Hope they’re doing well, though.”

“Mmm,” Cas says.

“Anyway, point is, most people should have the decency not to be dicks. Anybody gives you shit about your wings or anything, you let me know. Been a while since I caused a scene, but I’m sure the skill will come back to me.”

“Thank you,” Cas says, twirling his fork in his pasta, “but I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m not sure there’s anything left to see.”

“Uh,” Dean says, shifting uncomfortably. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Cas says, shoving a bite into his mouth.

\--

Dean hasn’t even gotten through “Hello” when Charlie interrupts him. “Dude,” she says, “I’m finally done with school. For good. I’m _free_.”

Dean grins as he tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can talk while he finishes rinsing his dishes. “Not that I’m complaining,” he says, “but isn’t our generation supposed to be allergic to making phone calls?”

“No, we’re too old for that,” she says. “We’re supposed to be hopeless when it comes to using our phones for anything _but_ phone calls, I think.”

“Noted,” Dean says, shifting his phone back to his hand and heading for the couch.

“So, anyway,” Charlie says. “What’s up? How’s Lawrence?”

“Uh,” Dean says. “It’s fine?”

“You like living there?” Charlie says, suspiciously cheerfully. “Planning on sticking around for a while?”

“Yeah?” Dean says. “Charlie. What’re you up to?”

“Well…” she says. “I was kinda hoping we could continue this conversation in person?”

“Wait,” Dean says. “What?”

“I kind of...may have already gotten a place in town?”

Dean slips his feet off the coffee table, sits up straight. “What?” he repeats.

“What?” Charlie asks innocently.

“I just...why on earth would you choose Kansas?”

“If I wasn’t in Lawrence, how would we start a new D&D campaign?”

“Charlie.”

“What?” she says. “I’m being serious. If I can work from home, I can make ‘home’ anywhere I want. Why not here?”

“It’s _Kansas_ ,” Dean says.

“So?”

“So I’m here because I’ve got family here. But why anyone else would choose--”

“You saying I don’t have family here?” Charlie says. “What happened to me being the little sister you never--”

“All right, all right,” Dean says. “You win.” He rubs at his knee with his free hand and asks, “So you gonna come over or what?”

Dean can hear the smile in Charlie’s voice as she says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“You need my address?” Dean asks. “Or are you still up to your old tricks?”

“See you in ten,” Charlie says cheerfully, and hangs up.

\--

Dean braces himself as he opens the door, catches and holds Charlie up as she leaps into a hug.

“Hey,” Charlie says, grinning up at him once her feet are back on the ground. “Long time no see.”

“Way too long,” Dean says. He reaches up to brush at her bangs. “I’m liking the new hair. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” Charlie says. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

“Yeah, well, good genes, I guess,” he says. “Anyway, you hungry?”

“Nah, I ate dinner already. I could go for seeing more than just your entryway, though.”

“Not much to see,” Dean says, shrugging. He turns around, Charlie following along as he walks and points out the bathroom, the kitchen, the door to his bedroom. He stops in the middle of the living room. “And that’s it,” he says. “The grand tour.”

Charlie looks around at the posters on his wall. “Good choices,” she says.

“You’re biased,” Dean says, taking a seat on the couch.

“Or maybe we both just have impeccable taste,” Charlie says, taking a seat next to him.

“Won’t argue with that,” Dean says. “Anyway, in all seriousness, what’re you doing in Lawrence?”

Charlie shrugs. “Settling down, I guess. Now that I’m done with school, I figured I’d start my own consulting firm. I’m just waiting for my LLC to be set up and then I’m good to go.”

“Wow. Look at you, all adult-like. They grow up so fast,” Dean says, wiping at a fake tear. He laughs when Charlie playfully punches at his shoulder. “So, tell me about grad school.”

Charlie groans dramatically, leaning back against the couch. “Literally the worst thing I’ve ever done,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t had time to do anything but coursework in years. I’m not sure I even know what ‘fun’ is any more.”

“Well, good luck rediscovering it here,” Dean says. “There’s pretty much never anything going on.”

“Honestly? That sounds great,” Charlie says, grinning. “So anyway, how about you? What’s new?”

Dean shrugs. “Same old, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Charlie says. “What about that roommate you mentioned? That’s new. That working out?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says. “He’s at work right now, but--” he checks the time on his phone-- “he’ll be home in an hour or so. Speaking of which, I should probably give him a heads up. You mind?”

“Go for it,” Charlie says.

Dean shoots off a quick text: **hey so one of my old friends is here hanging out. I’ll introduce you when you get here but just wanted you to be prepared.** He says, “His name’s Cas, by the way. Short for Cas.” He pauses as his phone vibrates with Cas’ response: **Thanks for the heads up. I’d love to meet your friend.** “And I have a feeling you guys are gonna get along.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie says, raising her eyebrows. “How does he feel about D&D?”

\--

They’re in the middle of a lively conversation about _Rogue One_ when Cas gets home. Charlie leaps off the couch as soon as she hears the door.

“Hey, I'm--” Cas starts, but as soon as he makes it into the living room, he freezes, staring at Charlie with wide eyes, mouth hanging slightly open.

Charlie stops walking towards him. “You okay, dude?” she says. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Cas blinks, shakes his head. When he reopens his eyes, he smiles and says, “Sorry, it’s been a long day.” He holds out his hand towards Charlie and says, “I’m Castiel. It’s nice to meet you.”

“No way is any friend of Dean’s getting a handshake,” Charlie says. She steps right up to Cas and wraps him in a hug as Dean watches on, grinning. For a moment Cas stands unmoving, hands twitching at his sides, but then he huffs a laugh and hugs Charlie back. “There we go,” Charlie says. “Nice to meet you, too.”

\--

Charlie solicits promises from both Dean and Cas that not only will they show up for D&D, but they’ll each invite a friend from work, too. Dean drags Victor along with promises of beer and snacks, and Cas even manages to convince Hannah to come, though Dean hasn’t asked what Cas promised them to get them to show up at a stranger’s house to play Dungeons and Dragons.

Hannah is already there when they arrive, so Dean sits across the table from them as Charlie gives Cas and Victor a tour of her apartment. He picks at the label of his beer, pausing as a flash of color catches his eye.

Hannah’s wings are spread out to either side of them, shimmering freely in the air. In the softer light of Charlie’s dining room, they’re not the dull gray Dean has grown accustomed to but instead a shining silvery blue.

“I like your wings,” Dean ventures, looking up to meet Hannah’s gaze.

Their eyes widen. “You can see them?”

“Sure,” Dean says. “So long as I don’t try too hard at it.”

Hannah smiles slightly. “Thank you,” they say. They tap their fingers against their glass and add, “I don’t hate you, by the way.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Uh, thanks?”

They shrug. “You seemed worried about it. But it’s not you, it’s just my job.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” Dean says, grinning. “Anyway, I get it.”

Hannah nods, looking up as everyone else reenters the dining room and settles around the table. Once they’re all seated, they look expectantly at Charlie.

“Okay,” she says, rubbing her hands together in excitement. “So. I know it’s not exactly conventional, but I’d rather not start with character creation, seeing as that’s kinda tedious and I don’t want to scare you all off on the first night. So I figured we’d just jump right in, and then once everyone has an idea of what this is gonna be like, you guys can go home and create your character sheets and stuff in preparation for next time.”

“I only understood half of that,” Victor says. Hannah nods in solemn agreement.

“All the more reason to just jump right in,” Charlie says. “So! I want you all to pretend you’re college kids.”

“Really, Charlie?” Dean says. “This isn’t gonna be some kinda self-insert deal, is it?”

“Of course not,” Charlie says lightly. “C’mon, don’t you trust me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “I trust you.”

“Great,” she says, grinning. “So pretend you’re all college kids.”

“Easier said than done,” Victor says. “I mean, Jesus, what is that? Eighteen to twenty-two-ish? That feels like it was a million years ago.”

“We’re old,” Dean says. He holds a fist up to Victor, who bumps it with his own, rolling his eyes.

“I think I’ve got you beat,” Cas says. “I’ve lived for over a million years and I’ve never been to college.”

“I’ve been, but not in this century,” Hannah volunteers. They squint, thinking. “When was Harvard founded? 1635? ‘36?”

“Oh my god,” Charlie says. “You guys are the worst.” They laugh good-naturedly as she throws up her hands.

“Okay, okay,” Dean says. “So how much backstory do we need here?”

“Just have a general idea in mind,” Charlie says. “Like just the one thing that’s your character’s driving force, you know? I don’t wanna get too bogged down.” She gives them a couple minutes to think on it, and once they all signal they’re done, she nods and continues, “So, you’re all going to KU. There’s this urban legend floating around lately about this place that supposedly exists near the the geographic center of the US.”

“Lebanon?” Hannah asks. Cas looks up sharply.

“Bingo,” Charlie says.

Dean looks at Cas, brow furrowed, and mouths, _You okay?_ as Charlie continues her narration.

Cas meets Dean’s eyes, expression shifting into a smile as he nods.

Dean nods back before returning his attention to Charlie.

“There’re rumors of a secret underground bunker hidden under the power plant outside of town,” she’s saying. “A couple of the kids in your history class were talking about checking it out last week. The thing is, they went over the weekend and didn’t come back. Everyone seems to think they just skipped town.” She pauses, raises an eyebrow. “What do you do?”

“Go investigate,” Cas says, at the same time Victor says, “Oh hell no.”

Dean grins. “Aw, c’mon, Vic. You’re no fun.”

“We’re gonna get ourselves killed,” Victor says.

“There are ways to resurrect each other if that happens!” Charlie says cheerfully.

“Exactly,” Dean says. “And anyway, we’re playing dumb college kids, remember? No offense, Charlie, Hannah.”

“None taken,” Charlie says.

“It’s been a while,” Hannah says, “but I recall a number of my classmates making no shortage of terrible decisions. I go investigate.”

“Me, too,” Dean says.

Victor leans back in his chair and groans. He rubs his hands over his face before leaning forward again. “Okay, fine,” he says. “I’m going. But only so these idiots--” he points a stern finger around the table-- “don’t get themselves killed.”

“Okay,” Charlie says, grinning. “So you’re gonna go investigate. How do you go about it?”

“I’ll drive,” Dean says, raising his hand. “I’ve got the coolest car.”

Hannah and Cas both nod, but Victor shakes his head. “Hang on. Do we have, uh...gear or anything yet?”

“I mean, nothing extravagant,” Charlie says. “But if you wanna argue for stuff a college kid would reasonably have, go for it.”

“I get in the car,” Victor says hesitantly, “but only after I grab a backpack and toss in a flashlight, an external charger for my phone, and some pepper spray.”

“Sounds good,” Charlie says. “Go ahead and make a note of it so you remember when you do your character sheet.”

As Victor scribbles some notes, Dean looks over at him with one eyebrow raised. “Thought you never played D&D before?”

“Sure haven’t,” Victor says. “But I’ve been a person for over thirty years and I wanna be at least mildly prepared when this takes a turn for the worse.”

“Fair,” Dean says.

“Anybody else wanna bring anything?” Charlie asks.

“I’m winging it,” Cas deadpans. Dean huffs a laugh.

“Me, too,” Hannah says, smiling faintly. “I’ve already made one bad decision and now I’m going to make another.”

“Sweet,” Dean says. “Everybody pile in?”

As everyone nods, Victor says, “I spend the whole drive muttering about how bad an idea this is.”

“It’s a few hours from KU to Lebanon,” Cas points out.

“What has that got to do with anything,” Victor says drily, earning him a smile from Cas.

“I drive us to the power plant,” Dean says.

“You drive to the power plant,” Charlie repeats, nodding. “It’s uneventful other than Victor’s quiet complaining. It’s dark by the time you arrive, but you can just barely make out some steps leading down to a door.”

“I park on the side of the road and head for the stairs,” Dean says. “You guys gonna back me up?”

Everyone nods as Hannah says, “I try the door.”

“Nothing happens,” Charlie says.

Hannah narrows their eyes. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”

“Like, nothing nothing. The door doesn’t budge.”

“Guess that’s it,” Victor says. “Time to go home.”

“If only there was a way to look around for clues,” Dean says.

“Is there a way to look around for clues?” Cas asks.

“And now we come to our first roll!” Charlie says. “You can do an investigation check, where you look for clues and make deductions based on them. The way this works is you roll a d20--”

“A twenty-sided die,” Dean explains.

“--and try to meet a certain threshold depending on how challenging whatever you’re trying to do is,” Charlie finishes. “We’ll assume average human stats for now, which means you’re not gonna have to worry about adding anything to your roll just yet.” She nods towards Cas. “Go ahead.”

Cas considers the assortment of borrowed dice laying in front of him before plucking out the twenty-sided die. He shakes it in his hand and tosses it on the table, leaning closer to look at the result. “Six,” he says grimly.

“Yikes,” Dean says.

“You don’t find shit,” Charlie says cheerfully.

Victor sighs. “I pull out my flashlight and investigate.”

“Nice!” Charlie says. “I’ll give you advantage on your roll for that, which means you get to roll two d20 and use the higher roll.”

Victor halfheartedly rolls his first die. “Nine,” he says, then picks it up and rolls again. He perks up a little as he says, “Seventeen.”

“There we go!” Charlie says. “As you point your flashlight around, something on the ground glints in the light.”

Victor sighs again. “I pick it up?”

“It’s a key,” Charlie says.

“Oh, great,” Victor says. “This isn’t ominous at all.”

“So, you…” Charlie says.

“Put the key in the lock,” Hannah says.

Victor groans. “I put the key in the lock.”

“The door opens,” Charlie says. “Do you make your way inside?”

“I do,” Cas says.

“Me, too,” Dean says.

“Unfortunately,” Victor says.

“I lead the way,” Hannah says.

“You make your way down the stairs, which open up into a larger room,” Charlie says. “It’s dark enough that it’s hard to make out much besides the vague shapes of a table and ancient-looking machinery. The only light is from Victor’s flashlight, and…”

“And?” Cas asks.

“And the faint glow filtering into the room from the hallway down the stairs and to your right.”

“I head towards the light,” Hannah says. Everyone agrees to follow them towards the source: a heavy door that’s open just a crack, letting the light -- much brighter up close -- shine through into the hallway. “I open the door further and look inside,” Hannah says quietly.

As they pull the door further open, they see something incredible. Something impossible. There’s a whole world beyond the door, stretching out for miles and miles. The sky above is stunningly blue, and below that are rolling hills covered in bright green grass. There’s a shining castle glimmering in the distance. And right in front of them, leading away from the door, is a road.

Dean squints at Charlie and asks, slowly, “What’s the road like?”

“It’s made of brick.”

“And what color--” Cas starts.

“Everyone,” Charlie interrupts. “Roll a dexterity saving throw. That’ll be a d20 each to avoid what’s coming.”

“What is it that’s coming?” Victor asks.

“I guess you’re about to find out,” Charlie says.

They roll one by one -- twelve, three, eight, fourteen.

“Ouch,” Charlie says. “I’m afraid that’s not gonna do it.”

An invisible force knocks them off their feet and pulls them through the door, which slams shut behind them with an ominous clang.

“Now that you’re lying face first on it,” Charlie says, “you see that the road is yellow.”

“Oh my god, Charlie,” Dean says.

“My dear adventurers,” Charlie says, grinning. “Welcome to Oz.”

\--

Dean gets out of the shower the next day to find Cas blinking himself awake at the table. “Mornin’,” he says as he starts the coffee brewing.

“Morning,” Cas grumbles, leaning with his head resting on his hand, eyes closed, brow furrowed.

Dean leans against the counter, tapping his fingers against the edge as he listens to the coffee dripping into the pot. “So, I know it’s probably gonna be a couple weeks before everyone’s schedules line up again,” he says, “but I was thinking about my character’s backstory in the shower.”

Cas rubs at his eyes. After a long pause, he sighs and says, “Okay?”

“I, uh,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “I was wondering if you think I should base my character off myself? I mean, I guess I already kinda did that when we started.” He pauses, waiting for Cas to weigh in, but he simply returns to sitting with his chin on his fist, staring at Dean blearily. After a few beats of silence, Dean continues, “But I also don’t think Charlie’d complain if I decided to try and play a totally different character, you know? It might be more of a challenge that way, but I’m not sure if that’d make it more fun or just more frus--”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts.

Dean glances over to find Cas rubbing at his temples, eyes closed again. “Yeah?”

“Please shut up.”

Dean’s hand stills. He feels heat flush up his neck, but he ignores it as he clears his throat. “You wanna give that another try?”

“No.”

Dean stares at Cas for a long moment before turning back to the coffee. He waits in silence until it finishes brewing, then pours some into a travel mug for himself and some into a regular mug for Cas. He walks the mug over to the table, setting it in front of Cas hard enough that some coffee sloshes over the edge.

He turns away before he can see Cas’ reaction. He grabs his mug off the counter and leaves for work without another word.

\--

“So,” Victor says, by way of greeting, “on a scale of one to ten, how unethical do you think it’d be for me to use my powers to make sure we’re both off at the same time so we can play D&D?”

“Wait,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow, “you actually liked it?”

“Uh, yeah?” Victor says. “I had a great time. Didn’t you?”

“‘Course I did. I just. I guess I’m surprised. You seemed a little, uh…hesitant.”

“No, my _character_ was _incredibly_ hesitant,” Victor says. He leans to look at Dean around his computer screen, grinning, and adds, “ _I_ can’t wait to see all the ways we get into trouble.”

Dean laughs as he takes a seat at his desk. “Fair enough.”

“So, what do you think? Up for another night of adventure soon?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says. “I, um. Just need to check with Cas about his schedule is all.”

“Cool, just let me know,” Victor says. “I was thinking of getting a group text going so we can coordinate.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, pulling on his headset. “Sounds great.”

In the downtime between calls from angry customers, Dean tries to figure out what to do. He runs through things he could say, like, _Hey, sorry for bugging you this morning, you don’t have to go to D &D if you don’t wanna_ or _Don’t feel obligated to do stuff just ‘cause you think it’s what I want_ or _Listen, if you didn’t have a good time you could have just said so._ As he walks home, he imagines storming through the front door and announcing, _Just ‘cause you’re pissy about being dragged to D &D doesn’t mean you get to be a dick to me._ He stands on the stoop, bouncing his keys in his hands, mouth dry.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Dean mutters to himself. He sticks his key in the lock and walks inside.

Cas is sitting cross-legged on the couch, the player’s handbook Charlie loaned them laying open in his lap. He looks up at Dean and then back down again, brow furrowed as he chews the inside of his lip.

“Hey,” Dean says, not moving from the hallway.

“Hey,” Cas says. He fiddles with the corner of the page. “Um. I’m sorry. About this morning.”

Dean considers him for a long moment. Cas hasn’t changed out of his pajamas, and his hair is still plastered to the side of his head where he slept on it. There are dark circles under his eyes in spite of the empty pot of coffee sitting on the table. Everything he planned to say suddenly seems petty. “It happens,” he says instead, running a hand through his hair. “You, uh...you wanna talk about whatever’s going on?”

“I...I’m just tired, that’s all,” Cas says, hand stilling as he stares down at the book.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, keeping his tone carefully neutral. He plasters on a smile and adds, “Just try not to take it out on me, will you?”

Cas glances up at him, relaxing a little when he sees Dean’s expression. “I’ll do my best,” he says seriously. He offers Dean a sheepish smile of his own. “No promises, though.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dean says, chuckling. “But listen. If you don’t wanna play, it’s cool. You don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Cas says insistently. “I had fun. And...I’ve been thinking about character creation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome,” Dean says. “Lemme get changed and then you can tell me about it?”

Cas nods, so Dean heads to his room, dumps his keys and wallet on his dresser, changes into his pajamas, and returns to sit next to Cas on the couch. “Okay,” he says. “Hit me with it.”

“I’ve decided my character had a strict religious upbringing,” Cas says hesitantly. “I think college is both a reminder of that and an escape from it. His parents are paying his way, but only on the condition he get a degree in religious studies. But even so, he sees it as an opportunity. He’s finally out from under their watchful eye.”

“Feeling a bit rebellious, huh?” Dean asks.

Cas smiles, nods. “As long as he keeps his grades up, he knows he can do whatever he wants in his spare time. Up to and including making bad decisions that may turn out to be huge mistakes. He’s on a journey of self discovery, and he’s excited to see where Oz takes him.”

Dean hesitates for a moment before he says, “That wouldn't have any basis in reality, would it?”

“It might,” Cas says innocently, staring down at the book.

Dean nods. “So, you think you’re ready to start on your character sheet?”

“I think so,” Cas says. “And I think I’ll be done reading through the player’s handbook tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Dean says. “You’re just reading it straight through?”

Cas looks up at him, frowning. “Is that not what you’re supposed to do?”

“Nah, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Dean says, grinning. “Just means you’re gonna be even better at D&D than I am.”

\--

Dean wanders the aisles at the used book store, basket hanging off one of his arms.

He starts off looking for some of his favorites, books he’d borrowed from the library when he was younger and read as fast as he could so he could finish them before they left town. He manages to find copies of _The Lord of the Rings_ , _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , _Ender’s Game_. He picks up _The Sirens of Titan_ and a couple other of Vonnegut’s works next, then grabs a few comics from the sale shelf, Batman and Spiderman and Captain America.

As he’s idly scanning the titles in the nonfiction section, an employee appears in his peripheral vision. “Need any help?” she asks.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says automatically, but as she turns to go, he rethinks it. “Actually, wait.”

“Hmm?” she says, turning back around. She pauses as he meets her eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Oh,” Dean says, finally recognizing her. “You live a couple doors down from me, right?”

“Yep.” She holds out her hand. “Name’s Krissy,” she says as they shake. “You’re the guy with the cool car.”

Dean grins at her. “Damn right,” he says. “I’m Dean.”

“Nice to officially meet you,” Krissy says.

“Likewise.”

“Anyway, you looking for something in particular?”

“Sort of,” Dean says. “Can you recommend me something for someone whose favorite Vonnegut book is _Sirens_?”

Krissy taps at her bottom lip with one finger. “So, what, like...weird, kinda depressing shit that ultimately has some sort of message?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“You read _Dark Tower_?” she asks.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Dean says. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“C’mon, I’m sure we’ve got a few copies,” Krissy says, leading him to the K section.

“Any other suggestions?” he asks as he follows her around the store.

“Hmm,” Krissy says. “How about _Feed?_ ”

“What’s it about?”

Krissy shrugs. “Trying to find human connection when technology is destroying the world and making us all stupid, I guess? Seems popular with the ‘boo hiss technology’ crowd.”

“Well, I work tech support and I hate it, so,” Dean says. “I’ll take it.”

“Perfect,” Krissy says.

“How about something a little less of a bummer?”

Krissy thinks for a moment, narrowing her eyes at the rows of books. “Maybe _The Death Gate Cycle?_ ”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Save-the-world fantasy type stuff,” she says. “As for what it’s _about_ , well, it’s been a while, but…” She squints, pursing her lips. “Trying to be the hero when you’ve been raised to be the villain?”

“Works for me,” Dean says. He picks up a copy of each book in the series, tossing them into his nearly overflowing basket. “I think that’ll do it,” he says. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem,” Krissy says, grinning. “How about as thanks, you let me take that car of yours for a spin?”

Dean scoffs. “In your dreams, kid.”

Krissy laughs, waving lazily as she turns to go. “Have a nice day, grandpa.”

\--

Dean lucks out at Goodwill -- there’s a small bookshelf buried underneath some fake plants, a little rickety but otherwise in decent shape. He drops a few bucks on it and a couple more on some L brackets from Home Depot before heading back to the apartment.

He digs a screwdriver out of the junk drawer in the kitchen, and with a little elbow grease, the bookshelf is still a little beat up but much steadier. He tucks it into the corner next to the couch, arranging the books in alphabetical order.

Finally satisfied, Dean dusts his hands off and gets ready for work.

\--

When Dean gets back that evening, Cas is lounging on the couch, already partway through _Sirens_. He sits up a little as Dean enters.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cas says, gesturing with the book.

“‘Course not,” Dean says. “They’re for you.”

“Oh,” Cas says, a smile spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

\--

As Dean takes a seat next to Cas on the couch and grabs the remote, Cas says, “‘There is no reason why good cannot triumph as often as evil. The triumph of anything is a matter of organization. If there are such things as angels, I hope that they are organized along the lines of the Mafia.’”

“That from _Sirens?_ ” Dean asks.

Cas nods. He folds down the corner of his page, sets the book on the coffee table. “You asked me, before,” he says. “About heaven.”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

Cas hesitates for a moment. “Angels are terribly good at organization,” he says carefully, “more often than not. But they’re not always terribly good at...good.”

Dean looks Cas over, considers the side of his face. The circles under his eyes have faded, but he’s still frowning as he looks down at his hands. “Yeah?”

“There’s a reason,” Cas says, “why some of us choose to leave. Why we prefer to be here.”

“Angels can kinda be dicks, huh?” Dean says.

“To put it mildly,” Cas says. “But.” He pauses, frowning, and then adds, “I need you to understand that the reason I left -- part of the reason I’m here now -- it isn’t just because of things the other angels did. It’s also because of things I did.”

“Ah,” Dean says. He looks away, taps his fingers against his leg as he thinks. “Obviously I don’t get what it’s like to be an angel,” he says eventually, shrugging, “but...‘Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good.’”

Cas looks up at Dean, squinting as he searches his memory. “Siken?”

Dean nods. “I’ve done some stuff I’m not proud of, too.”

“I’m sure you had a good reason,” Cas says.

Dean grimaces. “I used to tell myself that,” he says. “That I was doing it for Sam. That I didn’t have any other choice. It was probably true at least some of the time, when he needed food or school supplies or whatever. The rest of the time, though...” He shrugs. “I did it ‘cause I was angry, or bitter, or a product of the system. You can spin it however you want, but the bottom line is I did it ‘cause I wanted to.”

“Ah,” Cas says. He pauses, idly rubbing his hands together. “For what it’s worth,” he adds, “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Yikes,” Dean says.

“Yikes,” Cas agrees, nodding.

They sit quietly for a moment, neither of them venturing to look up. “Anyway,” Dean says eventually, breaking the silence, “you seem all right to me. For what it’s worth.”

“A rousing endorsement,” Cas says drily.

Dean laughs. “And I meant every word.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I suppose you’re not so bad yourself.”

“That’s exactly the low kinda bar I aim to meet,” Dean says. He settles back further into the couch and turns on the TV, Cas smiling at him in his peripheral vision.

\--

They sit together in the shade at the park, eating the sandwiches Dean brought when Cas texted he forgot his lunch. A flash of yellow catches Dean’s eye and he looks up, tracking the movement of the school bus as it makes its way down the block and turns a corner.

It’s just disappeared out of sight when Cas asks, “Where’s Sam?” Dean doesn’t mean to react, but in response to whatever involuntary expression he made, Cas rushes to add, “I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s all right,” Dean says. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m not trying to pry,” Cas says. “It’s just you, ah--”

“I’ve been told I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve.”

Cas smiles at him softly. “Yes.”

“It’s a long story,” Dean says.

“Ah,” Cas says, and leaves it at that.

\--

“Sam’s not dead or anything,” Dean says that night, once they’ve finished their movie and the credits start rolling. Cas pauses mid-stretch and turns to look at him, slowly settling his arms back to his sides. “I mean, not that I know of. It’s just, uh.” He shrugs. “We had a kinda rough childhood, you know? And we were both sick of it, but he was the one with the guts to do something about it.”

“He ran away?” Cas ventures.

“He ran away,” Dean confirms. “During his senior year of highschool. I like to think he’s made it big by now, you know? He’s a smart kid, talked about going to Stanford. Bet he did pretty well for himself, wherever he is.”

Cas smiles sadly. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Dean nods. “But, uh,” he says, “to me he’s still that seventeen year old kid, you know? So this time of year is...” He shrugs. Cas nods like he gets it. “Anyway,” Dean says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for listening.”

“Of course,” Cas says.

\--

After their group text message has been going on for over a month, they finally work out another day for D&D.

Dean and Cas arrive at the same time as Hannah. Cas cheerfully explains the backstory he came up with as they walk from their cars to Charlie’s apartment, finishing just as they knock on her door. He turns to Hannah and asks, “What about yours?”

“My character is here to have the best years of their life and doesn't give a fuck,” Hannah says.

“What else?” Cas asks.

“That’s it.”

Dean laughs. “What more do you need?”

\--

Once everyone is settled around the table, Charlie introduces them to Oz.

They pick themselves up off the road and start walking, reaching a nearby town without incident. Charlie creates the world around them as they wander the streets, coming up with different voices for the town’s citizens. The children they find playing in the streets seem carefree enough, but the adults tell a different story.

As peaceful as the village appears on the surface, there’s more going on than meets the eye. “Let’s just say business is booming,” a gruff blacksmith tells them, directing them to the town center.

Market stalls line the streets in the town square, devoid of customers and shopkeepers alike. All attention is focused on the platform in the center of the square, where two women stand, talking to the crowd of people below. Both wear bright white doublets emblazoned with a multicolored flag.

“The witch may seem unstoppable,” one shouts, her long red hair billowing around her shoulders as she turns to address the crowd, “but together, we can defeat her!”

“Are any here brave enough to join the resistance?” the other asks.

To everyone’s surprise, Victor raises his hand and says, “I am.”

The women jump down from the platform and make their way over to their group. As they approach, the brown-haired one holds out her hand to Victor. “I’m Dorothy,” she says, “and this is Celeste.” She shakes Victor’s hand enthusiastically.

Celeste looks them up and down, grinning. “So,” she says. “Are you ready to save the world?”

\--

They spend most of the evening time talking about the new roles they’re going to take on as they train to help the resistance. Charlie walks around the table, helping each of them with their character sheets, filling in stats, choosing feats.

It’s getting late by the time they’re all done. “Okay, well,” Charlie says, finally sitting back in her spot at the head of the table. “We can start getting into the plot stuff, but we’re gonna have to keep it short so we can all get to bed at a reasonable hour.” She shifts in her seat, switches back to her dungeon master voice. “You’re finally all geared up. What do you do?”

“Save the world?” Victor says.

“Gonna need you to be a little more specific,” Charlie says, grinning.

Victor shrugs. “Talk to Celeste and Dorothy, see if they’ve got a mission for us?”

Everyone else nods in agreement.

“You find Dorothy and Celeste leaning over a map at their makeshift headquarters,” Charlie says. “As you walk in, they both look up, and Dorothy says, ‘Great, just the people we needed. We’ve got a job for you.’”

“We live to serve,” Hannah says drily.

“We need to set up barricades here--” Dorothy points to a spot on the map-- “and here,” she adds, pointing again. “But for that, we need materials. We’re sending you to the forest to the west of town along with one of our supply carts to gather as much wood as you can.”

Celeste nods gravely. “It’s of the utmost importance. We--”

“What?” Dean interrupts. “A fetch quest? Boooooo.”

Charlie smacks him playfully. “Listen, mister level one cleric, this is what you’re qualified for.”

“We’re just going to save the world very slowly,” Cas says.

Charlie laughs. “Exactly.”

\--

Decorations start popping up around town. Drawings of skeletons and jack-o-lanterns and witches appear on the windows of the corner store, and fake webbing hangs off the door to Krissy’s apartment, plastic spiders perched carefully amongst the strands. The ads in the weekly fliers advertise a huge array of candies and costumes. Dean throws them all in the trash and offers to work on Halloween.

Krissy is standing near the stairs, leaning on the railing, when he heads out. She’s dressed in some kind of vaguely steampunk getup involving way too many buckles. An oversized wrench hangs off her belts next to a line of tubes that glow blue. She turns as the door clicks shut, eyes lighting up.

“Hey,” she says, “you passing out candy?”

“You wish,” Dean says. “Anyway, aren’t you a little old for trick-or-treating?”

Krissy scoffs. “You’re never too old for Halloween.” She falls silent as another door opens, Dean’s next-door neighbors making their way out of their apartment with their daughter in tow, dressed up as a bright green dinosaur. They nod politely, everyone wishing one another a happy Halloween as they pass.

“Cute kid,” Dean says, once they’re out of earshot, “but she drives me nuts with all the screaming.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Krissy says, laughing, “she hasn’t been that bad lately. Only keeps me up one night a week, tops.”

“With any luck, she’s finally learning to internalize it like the rest of us.”

“We can only hope,” Krissy says drily. “Hey, by the way, what’d your boyfriend think of the books?”

“Um,” Dean says, heat flushing up his neck. “He’s, uh. He’s not my-- we’re not-- not together.”

“Oh,” Krissy says. “My mistake.”

“It’s cool,” Dean says, scratching at the back of his head. “Anyway, he started right in rereading _Sirens_ and then tore through _The Death Gate Cycle,_ so good call on that one.”

“Nice,” she says.

“Anyway, I gotta head to work,” Dean says.

“Wow, lame. I was gonna ask if you had any fun Halloween plans, but.” She shrugs.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he says. “How about you?”

“Josephine’s on her way home to pick me up for the party,” Krissy says.

“Your roommate?” Dean asks.

“Girlfriend,” she says. “Speaking of which.” She pushes up off the railing, waving down to the car that’s just pulled up. Josephine looks up from the driver’s seat, waving back. “Cya, Dean,” she says, taking off down the stairs. “Happy Halloween!”

“Have fun,” Dean calls. By the time he gets to the ground floor, they’ve already driven off.

\--

“It was on sale,” Cas explains as Dean eyes the giant pile of candy sitting on the coffee table.

Dean takes a seat next to Cas on the couch. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” he says, grinning, and grabs a handful.

Cas chuckles softly. “I figured, since we didn’t celebrate yesterday…” He looks over at Dean expectantly.

“Yeah, uh,” Dean says, unwrapping a Snickers, “never got to trick or treat much when I was a kid. We moved around a lot since dad was still on his quest for vengeance or whatever. Even if we’d stuck in one place, by fourteen my dad decided I was too old for it, anyway, so.” He shrugs. “Figure I’m definitely too old for it now.”

“Ah,” Cas says. He hesitates for a moment and then adds, “You don’t talk about your father much.”

“Nah,” Dean says, and leaves it at that. “Anyway, kids don’t really come around apartments. But I’ve always really wanted a house so I could be one of the cool people, y’know? One of the ones who gives out full size candy bars. That’s not quite in the cards right now, though.”

Cas nods, sifting through the pile for a bag of Skittles.

“Anyway, I figure we can have a belated celebration now,” Dean says. “Up for some popcorn and a movie?”

“Sure,” Cas says.

He gets up to make the popcorn while Dean sifts through the DVDs, settling on _The Descent_. They watch it in silence, slowly chipping away at their snacks.

“What did you think?” Dean asks Cas as the credits roll.

“The people were more monstrous than the monsters,” Cas says.

“Yeah.” Dean huffs, voice turning bitter as he adds, “If my dad had figured that out about fifteen years earlier, maybe I would’ve actually gotten to celebrate Halloween.”

Cas frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

Dean sighs. “You know those conspiracy theorists I mentioned before? The ones who think monsters exist?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, my dad was one of ‘em. Got it into his head that what happened to my mom couldn’t have been an accident. That it must have been something else. He was convinced it was a demon at first, then, when they ruled that out, that it was some other kinda creature.” He scoffs. “Like that’s easier to believe than a stove fire. Guess it was easier to accept than the fact he was the last one to use the kitchen, though.”

“Dean...” Cas starts, but Dean just grabs the now empty bowl off the table, getting up to take it to the kitchen.

\--

There’s only one day each year that Dean specifically requests off, and there’s only one way he’s always spent it.

He wakes up early, lying unmoving in his bed until he hears Cas get up, get ready for work, head out and close the door behind him. It’s only then that he gets up. He doesn’t bother showering, just throws on some jeans and a t-shirt and heads out the door.

He parks the Impala in his usual spot and makes his way across the grass. When he finds what he’s looking for, he sits down in front of it, legs crossed, and presses his fingers to the cool stone, tracing the inscription.

 _Hey, mom,_ he thinks, wishing he had more than that to offer.

\--

“Hey,” Cas says casually when he gets home from work, dropping his wallet and keys onto the coffee table.

Dean raises a hand in acknowledgement. He doesn’t look away from the TV, but he can feel Cas’ eyes on him.

Cas frowns down at him. “Are you okay?”

Dean nods. He thinks, _Please don’t make it weird don’t make it weird don’t--_

After a moment’s hesitation, Cas pulls out his phone. He glances down at it and says, “Oh.” He slips it back into his pocket. “Are you hungry?”

Dean shrugs.

“Okay,” Cas says.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief as Cas disappears into the kitchen.

He reappears a few minutes later, stops when he’s standing right next to Dean. Dean looks up to find Cas carrying two sandwiches, holding one plate out to him. Dean reaches up and takes it, and Cas nods, takes a seat on the couch. They sit next to one another, watching TV and eating their dinner in silence.

\--

Cas has two days off in a row and spends them in the exact same spot on the couch and the exact same state of unwashed, unshaven, and un-changed-out-of-pajamas. He doesn’t get up when Dean says good morning, and, more surprisingly, he also doesn’t get up even when Dean announces the coffee is ready.

“Enjoy your days off?” Dean asks from the table, tapping against the side of his mug.

Cas shrugs.

“What’d you do?” Dean asks.

“Nothing,” Cas says.

“That sounds nice.”

Cas shrugs. “I guess.”

“Uh,” Dean says. “Okay.” He takes another sip of his coffee, considering Cas’ form where he’s curled up on the couch. After another moment, he gets up and heads back into the kitchen.

Dean pours Cas a mug, takes it to the living room and sets it on the coffee table. He nudges at Cas and says, “C’mon. Coffee.”

Cas sighs, but he reluctantly sits up and picks up the mug, sipping at the coffee. Dean nods, satisfied, and returns to the kitchen to empty the dishwasher, wipe down the counters, sweep the floor. By the time he finishes and returns to the living room, Cas has curled back up on the couch.

Dean sits down in front of him on the coffee table. “Hey,” he says. “You wanna go walk around the park?”

“No,” Cas says from underneath the blanket.

“C’mon, it’s nice outside,” Dean says. “It’s gonna start getting cold and miserable here in a bit. We should take advantage of the good weather while it lasts.”

“It’s nice in here, too,” Cas says.

“Yeah, but we can’t watch people eat shit at the skate park from in here,” Dean says.

Cas sighs, but he sits up. “Fine.”

Dean grins at him, pats his shoulder. “Knew that’d convince you,” he says. He stands, grabbing Cas’ empty mug and taking it to the kitchen while Cas drags himself up off the couch and into the bathroom.

Dean makes them lunch while Cas showers. When he’s done, they pack everything up and head to the park. Dean walks with his hands in his pockets, sneaking glances over at Cas. He looks more and more alert the longer they walk, taking deep breaths of the crisp air, looking around at the birds flitting from tree to tree, the other people out and about.

As promised, they watch a group of teens skating for a while until Dean says, feigning disappointment, “Huh, this bunch is actually pretty good.”

“A shame,” Cas says.

They make their way to their usual spot when they get bored watching the skaters. It’s gorgeous outside, the trees all finally having turned, a gentle breeze rustling the multicolored leaves.

As they sit eating their lunch, Dean catches Cas smiling. He nudges Cas’ foot under the table and says, “See? Told you this was a good idea.”

Cas huffs a quiet laugh. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

\--

“You ever celebrated Thanksgiving?” Dean asks.

“No,” Cas says. “Have you?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe when I was real little, but I don’t remember it. After mom died, we never really celebrated holidays, y’know? We moved around a lot and never really had, uh--” He stops, clears his throat. “I mean, it just wouldn’t have felt right, anyway, I guess.”

“Mmm,” Cas says. “Did you want to celebrate now?”

“I mean, yeah. Kinda?” Dean says, brow furrowed. “But it feels like it’s supposed to be all about tradition, and I don’t have anything to base it off of. No family recipes to use, nothing like that.”

“We don’t have to do something traditional,” Cas says, shrugging. “We can do whatever we want. Make our own traditions.”

“What, just wing it?” Dean says.

Cas nods. “I know a thing or two about sticking to the books,” he says, “and I’ve always found writing my own story more satisfying.”

\--

Dean brainstorms what to do for Thanksgiving. He’s waiting for Cas to get home from work, distractedly chopping up vegetables for their dinner as he tries to decide on what to make. In spite of what Cas said, he’s tempted to go with what he knows is standard fare -- turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, pie. Then again, he could also see himself going a completely different route, making something else entirely, maybe pizza or meatloaf or--

He’s so caught up in his planning that he doesn’t even realize what’s happened until he sees the blood pooling on the cutting board.

“Oh, fuck,” he says. He glances at his hand just long enough for his stomach to flip when he thinks he catches a glimpse of bone. He immediately grabs the towel hanging on the stove and wraps it around his hand, applying pressure as best he can as he heads for the couch.

For a few minutes he thinks maybe the cut isn’t too bad, but then things change. The pain builds until it’s radiating up his arm, hand feeling like it’s on fire. It hurts so bad he’s dizzy, and he presses his cut palm between his other hand and his thigh, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to take deep breaths through his nose.

He distantly registers the door opening, a cold blast of air rushing into the apartment before it clicks closed. The rapid footfalls against the carpet seem to be thumping in time with his heartbeat.

He doesn’t process that someone’s talking until Cas sits on the coffee table in front of him, hand on Dean’s arm. “Dean,” he says. “Let me see.”

Dean reluctantly pulls his uninjured hand away. As Cas unwraps the saturated towel, Dean hisses in pain. He clutches at Cas’ shirt, leaning with his forehead pressed against Cas’ shoulder.

Cas pauses for a moment before wrapping Dean’s hand back up. When he reapplies pressure, Dean lets out a breathless whimper. It hurts so badly he doesn’t even care how pathetic he sounds.

Cas says, quietly, “You need to go to the doctor.”

Dean takes a few steadying breaths, then says through his clenched jaw, “No. It’s fine.”

“I’m serious,” Cas says. “At the very least, you need stitches. You--”

“You don’t get it,” Dean snaps. He pulls himself up straighter with the hand gripping Cas’ shirt and forces himself to look Cas in the eye. “It’s not a matter of not wanting to go to the doctor, okay?” He says, ignoring the pitying look Cas is giving him. “It’s that I _can’t_ go. I don’t have insurance and I can’t afford to go, all right?” He yanks his hand away from Cas and presses it back against his leg, immediately regretting the sudden movement. He has to stop and just breathe, head spinning as he rests it back against Cas’ arm, hand throbbing with every heartbeat.

“Dean--”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean says. “Can’t you just let me suffer in peace.” Cas falls silent, and Dean sits there, breathing in and out, focusing on trying not to throw up.

A few agonizing minutes pass before Cas finally breaks the silence by asking quietly, “Can you stand?”

“What?” Dean grits out. “Why?”

“Our ride is almost here,” Cas says. “We’re going to get your hand looked at.”

Dean twists his fingers in Cas’ shirt. He says, pleading, “Cas--”

“You can keep fighting me on this if you want,” Cas says gently, “but given present circumstances, I’m pretty sure I’m going to win.”

“God,” Dean says. “What, you gonna carry me out of the apartment?”

“If that's what it takes.”

Dean clenches his jaw, doesn’t move as his hand continues to throb. After a few long moments, he sighs and says, “At least get me a fresh towel so I don’t bleed all over their car.”

“All right,” Cas says, standing up.

“And don’t take me to the fucking hospital,” Dean adds.

“There’s an urgent care not far from here,” Cas says as he walks to the kitchen. He returns a moment later with another couple of towels. He carefully peels the old one off Dean’s hand and rewraps it, using the extra to wipe off the blood that ran down Dean’s arm.

“It’s still going to be expensive as shit,” Dean says.

“We’ll figure it out,” Cas says. “Come on.”

Cas helps Dean up. He makes Dean clench his hand and hold it against his chest, then steadies him with a hand on his arm and leads him out the door and down to the waiting car.

\--

Dean wakes up feeling like shit.

On the plus side, his hand is just aching instead of radiating pain through his whole arm. He looks over at it where it rests, bandaged up, on a couple of pillows.

That’s when he finally wakes up fully. Based on the light filtering into the room, he knows it must be late morning. He was supposed to be at work at seven.

He reaches over to grab his phone, heart racing, but when he picks it up, there’s a post-it sticking to the screen:

> Victor is covering your shift. Take more meds and go back to sleep if you need to.
> 
> -Cas

Dean pulls the post-it off and checks the time. He was right; it’s nearly eleven, which also explains why he’s so hungry.

Dean sits up slowly, picks up the open bottle of ibuprofen Cas left on his nightstand, takes a couple with the glass of water Cas left him, too, and gets up.

He finds Cas sitting at the kitchen table, looking at his phone as he eats a bowl of cereal. “Hey,” Dean says.

“Good morning,” Cas says, setting down his phone. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit, mostly,” Dean says. “Feels kinda like last night was a bad dream.”

Cas nods. “They said that’s a side effect of the anaesthetic.”

“Ah,” Dean says. He hesitates for a moment, sighs, and then says, “So, uh. Thanks. For helping me out yesterday.”

Cas looks up at him. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah, I mean it,” Dean says.

“But?”

“But I also kind of wish you hadn’t.”

Cas shrugs, looking back down at his bowl. “I would rather have you be angry with me than have spent any longer watching you in that much pain.”

“I’m not angry, Cas,” Dean says. He looks at the floor, scrubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I’m just…scared, I guess. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get the bill.”

Cas doesn’t say anything in response to that. When Dean looks up, he’s sitting there, not eating his cereal, just fiddling with his spoon, his expression carefully blank.

“Cas,” he says.

“Dean.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Cas shifts in his seat. He says, “You don’t need to worry about the bill.”

“Why not?”

“It’s already been taken care of.”

“By what? The money fairy?” Dean says incredulously.

Cas rolls his eyes. “I took care of it.”

Dean inhales sharply. “How much?”

“All of it.”

Dean heaves an exasperated sigh. “You know that’s not what I'm asking.”

“They gave me a 30% discount for paying in full.”

“How much, Cas.”

Cas looks up, considers him for a long moment, then looks away again. He says, “Just under eight hundred dollars.”

“Jesus,” Dean says. He feels sick to his stomach.

“I had some money saved up,” Cas says gently. “It’s all right, Dean.”

“It’s not all right,” Dean snaps. He takes a breath and then says, “Tell me how much of your savings this cost you.”

“Why?”

“Tell me.”

Cas sighs. “All of it,” he admits.

“Christ,” Dean says. He runs his hand down over his face, leans his head back, blinks up at the ceiling.

After a few long moments, Cas says, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Because I should be able to do this on my own!” Dean says, looking back down at Cas, throwing his uninjured arm to the side. “I’m a goddamn adult, I should be able to take care of myself!”

“Is that really what you want?” Cas asks.

“What?”

“To have to do everything alone.”

“No,” Dean says, voice cracking. “I mean, that’s-- that’s not what I--”

“Yeah,” Cas says, swirling his spoon through his cereal. “Me neither.”

Dean swallows hard. “You’d be fine on your own.”

“No,” Cas says. “I wouldn’t be.”

Dean scoffs. “Sure you would. I mean, look at you, saving up money, enough to pay to fix my fucking mistakes, apparently--”

“Dean.”

“What.”

“You remember when we met?” Cas says.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Of course.”

“I had no money,” Cas says. “No credit history. No home, nowhere to go, no one I could have called. I had nothing besides the clothes I was wearing. And you bought me dinner. Invited me into your home. Spent money you couldn’t spare to get me things of my own. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

“It’s what anyone would have done,” Dean says.

Cas looks up at Dean and meets his eyes. He says, levelly, “I know from experience that it isn’t.”

Dean is the first to look away. He exhales in a rush, shoulders sagging. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Cas says quietly, and then, “Are you hungry?”

Dean nods. He sits down at the table, silently running his fingers across the wood grain as Cas gets up to make him breakfast.

\--

December arrives rainy and miserable.

Dean usually just toughs it out, bundles up in layers inside his apartment and sits under blankets and eats a lot of soup. That’s what he’s resolved to do this year, right up until he gets up for work one day and finds Cas curled up into a ball on the couch. When Dean gets a little closer, he can see Cas shivering in his sleep.

Dean stands there for a few seconds, biting his lip, before his resolve crumbles. He turns the thermostat up until the heat cycles on, crinkling his nose at the smell.

By the time he gets out of the shower, the smell of the unused heater has dissipated. He has to admit it feels much more comfortable in the apartment and catches himself breathing a sigh of relief even before he steps back into the living room and sees that Cas has stopped shaking.

Dean smiles to himself as he finishes getting ready for work. When he heads out, he leaves a post-it stuck to the inside of the door:

> Turn down the heat when you leave for work please
> 
> -D

\--

Dean and Cas both work Christmas Eve but have Christmas Day off, and Dean is halfway excited about it until he wakes up on Christmas morning to a call from Victor.

“Hey, sorry for waking you,” Victor says, and to his credit, he sounds like he means it. “So, shocker, someone called off, and with the skeleton crew, now we’re shorthanded. Can you come in? It’ll still be holiday pay, obviously.”

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Dean says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I owe you one, anyway.”

\--

Working on Christmas Day isn’t actually as bad as it could have been. Victor shows up at Dean’s cubicle midmorning and hands him a plain white box.

“Hey,” he says. “Merry Christmas. It’s pecan since I figured that’d be pretty hard for me to fuck up.”

Dean grins. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll have to return the favor someday soon. Lemon meringue, right?”

“Hell yeah,” Victor says.

Charlie drops by, too, showing up on his lunch and handing him a small bag. When he opens it, he finds a gorgeous set of green dice with intricate detailing around the numbers.

“Awesome,” Dean says, grinning up at her.

“You’re welcome,” Charlie says, smiling back. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Dean echos. “Hey, so, now that you’re so close by...What kinda pie is your favorite?”

“Hmm,” Charlie says. “How about...you surprise me?”

“I can do that,” Dean says.

\--

Dean slowly changes into his pajamas, nearly tripping over his own pants as he pauses to yawn. He considers going back on the plans he made with Cas right up until the kid next door lets out a mournful wail that he swears makes the adjoining wall tremble.

He sighs, heading back into the kitchen to grab a couple forks. He shuffles into the living room and plunks them down on the coffee table along with the pie before taking a seat next to Cas on the couch.

“Time for _Die Hard_?” Cas asks, picking up the remote when Dean nods.

As the movie starts to play, Cas says, quietly, “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas,” Dean says, rubbing at his hand where it’s healing.

\--

The first day of the new year rolls in without fanfare. The most exciting thing is the office’s monthly birthday celebration, a standard one-cake-fits-all affair. Dean savors his small slice of german chocolate cake and resolves to be content with nothing but that.

Unfortunately, when the actual day rolls around, he gets home from work to find a wrapped present sitting on the coffee table in front of Cas.

“Uh,” Dean says, pausing at the edge of the living room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Cas says. “So, were you planning on telling me?”

Dean sighs. “Honestly? No.”

“Why not?” Cas asks, frowning.

“Because of this,” Dean says, gesturing to the present.

Cas looks up at him, looks away. “Oh,” he says, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. “I’m not trying to be an ungrateful asshole, I swear.”

Cas shrugs.

Dean drags a hand over his face before moving to sit next to Cas on the couch. He grabs the present off the table, pulls it into his lap, and unwraps it carefully. It’s a non-stick pan -- a decent one, by the looks of it, which is great given that the ones Dean currently has are unbelievably shitty. They’re so thin that the heat distribution is terrible and so poorly made that the teflon flakes off into their food when he cooks.

“I don’t really know much about cooking,” Cas says, “but I’ve heard you complaining about the Walmart pans, and this one was excellently reviewed on Amazon.” He hesitates a moment and adds, “And it wasn’t very expensive. I can show you the--”

“No, it’s-- it’s okay. This is great. I mean it,” Dean says, and Cas nods, smiles a little. Dean runs his fingers along the box and adds, quietly, “Thanks.”

\--

As if the birthday presents weren’t bad enough, Dean gets home from work one day a few weeks later to find Cas attempting to carefully slide a flat screen TV out of its box.

“What the hell is this?” Dean says as he watches the proceedings.

“I believe it’s called a smart TV,” Cas says mildly.

“What was wrong with the old TV?” Dean asks.

“I’m pretty sure it was made sometime around the year you were born,” Cas says.

“So?” Dean says. “It was working just fine.”

“It had dead spots,” Cas says, inching the TV a little further out of the box, “and you called it a ‘hunk of junk’ just the other day.”

“That’s not the point,” Dean says. “You can’t keep doing this, man.”

Cas doesn’t even look up. “Doing what?”

“Spending all this money on me,” Dean says. “My hand, the stuff for the kitchen, the TV...it’s too much.”

“To be fair,” Cas says, “I get plenty of use from the stuff in the kitchen, and I do intend to use the TV myself.”

Dean heaves an exasperated sigh. “You intend to use my hand, too?”

Without missing a beat, Cas reaches up and takes Dean’s hand in his own. “This is nice,” he says, “but it might make it difficult to finish getting this set up.”

Dean gapes down at him for a long moment, caught up in the feel of Cas’ skin warm against his own, in the way Cas’ fingers curl against his palm. It’s only when heat starts to crawl its way into his cheeks that he manages to shake Cas off, rolling his eyes as he pulls his hand back. “Okay, smartass.”

Cas flashes a grin before returning to his project. Dean finally gives up and helps him, holding the box steady so Cas can slide the TV the rest of the way out.

“I paid for it with my tax return,” Cas explains as they set the TV onto the stand.

“Look,” Dean says as he plugs the TV in, “I’m not gonna tell you how to spend your money, but you could have used that to...I dunno, to get out of here for a few days, go on a vacation--”

“I didn’t want a vacation,” Cas says. “I wanted a better TV.”

“Cas--”

“We’re allowed to have nice things, Dean,” Cas says, unwrapping the new remote.

“Okay, I just--”

“Do you want to test the TV with me or not?” Cas says.

“Okay, fine,” Dean says.

By the time they’ve stayed up way too late watching the extended version of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ \-- “This thing is dangerous,” Dean declared as the credits rolled and he looked at the time -- he’s nearly forgotten to feel bad about it.

\--

Dean gets them a Netflix subscription.

He introduces Cas to Ken Burns documentaries first, reasoning that he’s heard a lot about them and figured Cas might enjoy them. He gets home from work and finds Cas has just started in on the one about the Civil War. By the time he heads to bed, he’s hooked, too, and has made Cas promise not to continue it without him.

Which is why, Dean suspects, Cas starts marathoning _Catfish_.

“Dude,” Dean says. “Really?”

“What?” Cas says, not looking up from the screen.

“All these options available, and you choose to watch this?”

“This guy thinks he’s dating Katy Perry,” Cas says.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I would never.”

Dean sighs at himself as he turns and walks into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of chips from the cabinet before returning to the couch. He taps Cas’ leg with his free hand.

Cas pulls his legs back so Dean can sit. As soon as he’s settled in with his feet propped up on the coffee table, Cas stretches his legs back out, resting his feet in Dean’s lap.

“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” Dean says.

“I already have, thank you,” Cas says.

Dean rolls his eyes. He opens the chips, holding the bag towards Cas so he can grab a handful.

\--

Dean’s day felt even longer than usual, filled with one call after another where people were screaming at him for problems he didn’t cause but was still doing his best to fix. He’s exhausted by the time he gets home late in the evening.

Cas is lying on the couch in his pajamas reading a book. He barely even looks up to greet him as he asks, “What’s the plan for dinner?”

“I dunno, Cas,” Dean snaps. “You’re an adult. Figure it out.”

Dean grabs his pajamas from his dresser and heads into the bathroom without another word, pulling the door shut harder than necessary.

He’s in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt when he hears the front door slam shut. Something burns down his throat, settles in the pit of his stomach. He swallows it down.

The shower is being finicky, water refusing to run anything other than lukewarm or boiling hot. Sighing, he settles for the former, standing with his head under the spray so the water drowns out all other sound. He feels vaguely ill as he composes texts to Cas in his head: **c’mon man I didn’t mean anything by it stop being so dramatic,** maybe. Or **I didn’t mean to be a dick it’s just been a shitty day.** Or maybe just **I’m sorry. please come back.**

It’s only when his skin starts to prune that he gets out and dries himself off, putting on his pajamas and leaving his work clothes in a heap on the floor.

He opens the bathroom door and freezes as he steps out of the hallway and looks into the living room. Cas is sitting on the couch, a couple of pizza boxes and some beer from the corner store on the table in front of him, plates and napkins stacked off to the side.

Heat flushes up Dean’s neck as Cas looks up at him. He looks at the floor as he makes his way over and takes a seat on the couch.

Cas says, more kindly than he deserves, “Rough day at work?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “Just. The way people talk to you sometimes, makes you feel like you’re not even a person, you know?” Cas _mmm_ s in agreement. Dean rubs his fingertips over his knee, clears his throat. “But that’s, uh. Not an excuse to take it out on you. Sorry.”

Cas nods. He reaches forward and pulls out two of the beers, handing one to Dean. Dean takes it without a word and cracks it open, taking a long drink as Cas scrolls through the options on Netflix.

\--

“Dean.”

There’s something dragging gently along his arm, almost ticklish. Dean twitches in response, still in the space between waking and sleeping.

“Dean,” Cas says again. This time Dean processes it, blinks a little more awake to find that he’s fallen asleep on the couch with head on Cas’ shoulder. His neck is unhappy with the angle, but otherwise, he’s warm and comfortable. Cas’ sweater is soft against his cheek, his touch gentle against his arm.

He groans as he reluctantly sits up, blearily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, rolling his head to the side to try and work the kinks out of his neck. The TV is off, and when Dean looks over at Cas, he smiles at him softly. Dean’s heart races as he wakes the rest of the way up.

It would be so easy, he thinks, glancing down at Cas’ mouth, to just--

“You should go to bed,” Cas says. He tilts his head toward the remnants of their dinner sitting on the coffee table. “I’ll clean up.”

“Uh.” Dean nods absently. “Yeah,” he says as he stands. “Thanks, Cas. G’night.”

“Good night, Dean,” Cas says as he stacks the boxes and plates, gathers the empty bottles.

Dean heads to the bathroom, takes a piss and brushes his teeth as fast as he can. By the time he finishes, Cas is still moving around in the kitchen, rinsing off their plates, putting them in the dishwasher.

Dean walks quietly to his bedroom, slips inside and closes the door softly behind himself.

\--

“So,” Dean says, “you wanna get out of the apartment since we’ve both got the day off?”

“It’s still cold out,” Cas grumbles, taking another sip of his coffee.

Dean picks up his phone and checks the weather. “Actually,” he says, “it’s really nice outside. Mid-70s.”

“Unseasonably warm,” Cas comments.

“Thanks, global warming,” Dean says.

“The planet is dying, Dean,” Cas says solemnly.

Dean laughs. “May as well enjoy it. You wanna go down to the river?”

“All right,” Cas says.

Dean packs everything up while Cas finishes his coffee -- some sandwiches, an old blanket, a couple of books. It’s a short drive to Riverfront Park, and once they get there, they spend some time walking the trails before settling on a spot near the water. They spread out their blanket and lie down to read in the shade.

Dean’s made good progress on his reread of _The Drawing of the Three_ when he pauses to ask Cas how his book is going. When Cas doesn’t respond, he looks over to find that he’s fallen asleep, book lying open on his chest, gently rising and falling as he breathes.

Dean watches him for a moment, smiling, before returning to his book. He’s nearing the halfway point when Cas finally wakes up, stretching across the blanket as he yawns.

“Have a nice nap?” Dean asks.

“Wonderful, thank you,” Cas says.

“Nice. You wanna go skip rocks on the river?”

Cas nods, so they leave their books on the blanket and head down to the water. Dean helps Cas pick out a few rocks, then shows him the perfect technique. It takes Cas a few tries, but he eventually replicates it, his rock skipping a few times before sinking into the water. Dean holds his hand up and Cas high-fives him, grinning at him and holding his gaze for a long moment before bending back down to look for another rock.

They eventually head back to their blanket, eating their sandwiches as they watch the sun setting over the river.

“Y’know,” Dean says, “I guess Kansas isn’t so bad sometimes.” Dean can feel Cas’ eyes on the side of his face as he _mmm_ s in agreement. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

\--

“I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner,” Cas says as they make their way into the apartment.

“Listen,” Dean says, “it’s not like I was hiding the river from you.”

“You’re right,” Cas says solemnly. “I bet the whole town was in on it.”

Dean laughs, Cas grinning at him in response. As Cas starts to turn away and make his way to the couch, Dean catches him by the hand. “Hey,” he says, tugging. Cas turns towards him, still smiling, and Dean leans in to kiss him.

Cas inhales sharply and pulls away, eyes wide, smile fading.

Dean immediately drops Cas’ hand and steps back, staring at the floor as he feels his face flush. He runs his hand through his hair, clears his throat. As he retreats towards his room, he mumbles, “Sorry, I should have-- I mean, I shouldn’t have assumed--”

“Dean, wait,” Cas says, stepping forward and reaching for Dean’s hand. “It’s all right. You just--” Dean looks up as Cas pauses and finds him smiling-- “you just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

Dean chews at his lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cas says.

“So we’re, um,” Dean says. “On the same page?”

“It seems so,” Cas says.

“Awesome.”

Cas lifts his free hand to Dean’s face and leans in, stopping with his mouth just shy of Dean’s, breath ghosting over his lips. When Dean looks up and meets Cas’ gaze, he grins.

“Jerk,” Dean says, and kisses Cas again.

\--

They spend the rest of the evening watching old episodes of _Star Trek_ and encroaching on one another’s space.

It starts with their knees bumping, Dean instinctively pulling back and saying, “Oh, sorry--”

He stops mid-apology as he looks over at Cas. He laughs at himself as their eyes meet, settling into the couch with his leg pressed against Cas’.

By the time they’re on their second episode, Cas has started periodically leaning over into Dean’s space to press kisses against his cheek, his jaw, behind his ear. Dean responds in kind until finally Cas tugs Dean towards him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back, holding him close as he kisses him.

When they finally pull apart to breathe, Cas rests with his lips pressed against Dean’s skin where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Being on the same page feels pretty good,” Dean says.

Cas huffs a laugh against his neck. “It does.”

“We’ve missed half the episode at this point,” Dean says.

“I hear Netflix allows you to rewind episodes,” Cas says. “Even replay them, if you wish.”

Dean smiles, presses a kiss to the side of Cas’ head. “Wonders never cease,” he says.

\--

“Okay,” Dean says, after they’ve spent half the past episode yawning. “Time for bed.” Cas nods his agreement, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV as Dean extricates himself from the couch.

Dean leans down to give Cas one last kiss before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed. “All yours,” he says once he’s finished. He waves lazily as he says, “G’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean,” Cas says, getting up to take his turn in the bathroom.

Dean goes into his room, closing the door behind himself as he strips down to his boxers. He crawls under the covers and turns off the light, then lies in bed and listens to the sounds of Cas getting ready to sleep: the water moving through the pipes as he goes through his own nightly ritual, his footsteps as he makes his way over to the couch, the rustling of fabric as he settles under the blanket.

Even after the sounds have stopped and the light filtering in under his door turns off, Dean lies awake. He waits a few long minutes until he finally gives up and slides out of bed to open his door.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark, but Cas is still just a shapeless blob on the couch. Dean stands in the doorway for a few long moments, fingers tapping against the frame, before he finally asks, quietly, “Hey, Cas, you awake?”

“Mmm,” Cas says from underneath the blanket.

“You wanna, uh,” Dean says. “You wanna come sleep in here? There’s plenty of room.”

Cas is quiet for a few beats. “I--” he says. “Yes.”

“Awesome,” Dean says under his breath as Cas gets up off the couch and walks towards him. Dean pushes the door the rest of the way open, moving aside to let Cas in.

They both get into bed, Dean lying on his side facing Cas, Cas lying on his back, stiff and unmoving.

“Dude,” Dean says, huffing a laugh. “What’re you doing?”

“Um,” Cas says. “Trying to sleep?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mere.”

Cas hesitates for only a moment before rolling onto his side and into Dean’s space. Dean reaches out and pulls Cas’ arm over his waist, tucks Cas’ head under his chin, tangles their legs together.

He holds Cas close. “That’s better,” he says into Cas’ hair.

Cas sighs contentedly and settles in.

\--

“So, uh,” Dean says when they show up to their next D&D session. He gestures at Cas, then to himself. “We’re together now.”

“Oh my God,” Charlie says. “No way?”

“Uh, yeah?” Dean says. “I didn’t think it’d--”

“I just can’t believe it,” Charlie says, holding a hand to her chest. “I’m in total shock.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Dean says.

Charlie scoffs. “I would never.”

Dean groans, dragging his hand over his face. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Mmm,” Hannah says. “You do this--” they gesture to their own face-- “thing.”

Charlie snorts as Victor nods solemnly.

“Anyway,” Dean says loudly, ignoring the way Victor has started shaking as he tries not to laugh. “Where were we in the story again? It’s been forever.”

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand before letting go and moving to take his usual seat at the table. “I believe we just hit level five,” he says, “and Celeste has just made a deal with the Wizard of Oz to split herself in two--”

\--

They finish _The Original Series_ and move onto _The Next Generation_. Dean feels like he’s seen these episodes a dozen times, so he leans over towards Cas instead of watching the screen, kissing along his jaw. Eventually he gets tired of waiting for Cas to turn towards him, so he reaches up a hand to move Cas’ face himself.

He stops when Cas makes a noise of protest, pulling back slightly. Cas leans forward and grabs the remote, pausing the show. “Okay,” he says, turning towards Dean. “Now we can resume.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dean says.

Cas leans over and kisses him, grinning. He reaches up and holds Dean’s face in his hands, deepening the kiss. Dean parts his lips, lets Cas explore his mouth with his tongue.

After a few minutes, Cas moves one hand from Dean’s face to tug at his hip. Dean moves where Cas guides him, straddling Cas’ legs with his own. He rolls his hips experimentally and says, a little breathlessly, “Yeah?”

Cas pulls Dean down for another kiss, smiles against his mouth, and _mmm_ s in agreement.

Dean moves against him, slow and easy, until they’re both hard. It’s only then that he breaks the kiss, sliding down so he’s on the floor in front of Cas, tugging his pants and boxers down low enough that he can take Cas into his mouth.

It isn’t long before Cas is helplessly grasping at the couch, trying and failing to find purchase. Dean pulls off just long enough to murmur, “You can grab onto my hair if you want.”

Instead, Cas grabs Dean’s left shoulder with one hand and uses the other to cup Dean’s neck, brushing his thumb against Dean’s hair. Dean ignores the way his face flushes and picks up his pace, and a few moments later, Cas comes, fingers tightening against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean pulls Cas’ pants back up for him afterwards, pressing kisses to the insides of Cas’ thighs through his pajamas as his breathing gradually slows. When Cas recovers, he tugs at Dean’s shoulder, urging him back up onto the couch.

Dean straddles Cas again, cups his face and leans down to kiss him. Cas drags his knuckles over Dean’s dick through his pants as they kiss, eventually moving them out of the way enough to stroke Dean lazily.

Before long, Dean finds himself moving his hands from Cas’ face to grip the back of the couch. He tries to push himself forward into Cas’ hand, but Cas moves with him. Dean lets out a low noise of complaint, but Cas simply runs his other hand up and down Dean’s side gently. He says, “Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes.

“Tell me what you want.”

Heat crawls up Dean’s neck, spreads across his face. “Faster,” he mumbles.

Cas nods and picks up the pace. Dean lets go of the back of the couch and moves to brace himself against Cas instead, forearms on his shoulders and hands tangled in his hair.

Soon enough he’s coming in the space between them, Cas pressing kisses to Dean’s neck, breathing something against Dean’s skin in a language he doesn’t understand.

\--

After a week of complaining about people coming to the corner store to blearily buy cold medicine, Cas catches whatever is going around.

He manages to soldier through for a few days, first downing one cough drop after another, then starting each day with a dose of knockoff Dayquil. He collapses onto the couch at the end of each day, groggily accepting whatever Dean shoves at him -- food and medicine, water and kleenex. He even lets Dean convince him to put vaseline on his face to stop his nose and lips from becoming too painfully chapped, even though he grumbles that he hates how it feels. He protests weakly when Dean kisses his cheek, when Dean takes him by the hand and pulls him to standing.

“You should let me sleep on the couch,” Cas says, without conviction.

“We live together, dude,” Dean says. “If I’m gonna get sick, I’m gonna get sick. I’m not going to make us both more miserable in the meantime by quarantining you.”

Cas sighs and acquiesces, allowing himself to be pulled into the bedroom.

\--

When Cas’ alarm goes off, he snoozes it as he sits up in bed. He manages to doze off sitting up before it goes off again.

“Dude,” Dean says, propping himself up on on elbow. “You need to stay home and get some rest.”

“I can’t do that, Dean,” Cas says tiredly. “You know that.” He starts pushing the covers away with one hand, but Dean reaches out to stop him.

“Things aren’t going to fall apart if you take one day off to take care of yourself,” Dean says, sitting up the rest of the way. He holds his hand out towards Cas. “Give me your phone. I’ll call in for you.”

Cas opens his mouth as if to protest, but then he simply sighs and hands his phone over before sliding back down under the covers. He lies there as Dean strokes a hand through his hair and calls up Cas’ boss to tell him that no, Cas really can’t make it in to work today.

By the time Dean has hung up, Cas has drifted back to sleep. Dean gets up slowly, careful not to wake him.

Dean makes Cas a batch of corn soup before he heads to work. He leaves it in the fridge, sticking a post-it on Cas’ phone directing him to eat when he wakes up.

\--

Hannah looks up as the door chimes, smiling faintly.

“How’s Cas doing?” they ask as Dean raises a hand in greeting.

“He’ll live,” Dean says as he walks toward the fridge to grab some Gatorade. “You get called in to cover for him?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” Dean says. “But also thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” Hannah says. “I wait around at home one my days off just hoping I’ll get called in to cover a shift”

Dean laughs, Hannah smiling in return.

“It really is all right,” they say. “He’d do the same for me. And he needed the rest.”

“No kidding,” Dean says, grabbing another bottle of cold medicine and heading up to the counter. As Hannah rings up his stuff, he says, “Thanks again,” then gives them a lazy salute as he heads out the door and towards their apartment.

He gets home to find Cas still dozing. He wakes up as Dean is changing into his pajamas.

“Hey,” Dean says. “How you feeling? Did you eat?”

“Slightly less terrible than this morning,” Cas says. “And yes. I had some of the soup.”

“And?”

“It was just spicy enough that I got a few blissful minutes of being able to breathe through my nose,” Cas says.

“Exactly as planned,” Dean says, handing him the Gatorade.

\--

Cas has mostly recovered by the time Saturday rolls around.

By some miracle, they both have the day off from work, too. They’d turned off their alarms the night before, so Dean wakes up slow and easy and half hard. He stretches in the late morning light filtering in through the window, flips his pillow over to the cool side, and rolls over to look at Cas, who’s still tucked under the covers, face pressed into the mattress.

“Hey,” he says, loud enough Cas will be able to hear him if he’s awake but quiet enough it won’t wake him if he isn’t. “You up?”

Cas makes a noise somewhere between a groan and an acknowledgement, so Dean laughs and gets up to make him a cup of coffee. Dean is soft by the time he gets back to the bedroom to find Cas sitting up in bed, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“You got enough energy for sex today?” Dean asks, handing Cas the mug.

Cas takes the coffee from him, blows on it with his eyes closed before taking a sip. “Ask me again in five minutes,” he says.

“You got it,” Dean says. They’d moved the old TV into the bedroom, so he turns on the news, sits half listening to it as he checks his emails on his phone.

“Okay,” Cas says a few minutes later, setting his now empty mug on the nightstand.

“Yeah?” Dean says, grinning. He tosses his phone to the side, sliding down on the bed as Cas moves to straddle his hips, leaning down for a kiss.

Cas rolls his hips, bites at Dean’s lower lip when he groans. Someone on TV is talking about some crisis or another, but right now, it’s all just background noise.

\--

Dean walks home from work, tired and aching. Rent is coming up due in just a few days, he realizes as he’s approaching a busy intersection, and he hasn’t paid the phone or utility bills yet, either. He sighs to himself as he watches the cars pass, and as he walks up to the curb, it occurs to him how easy it’d be to just take a few quick steps and walk right into traffic.

He can’t help but follow that thought to its logical conclusion. He thinks of what it would be like, leaving Cas on his own. Pictures him in the mornings, circles under his eyes, hair a mess, fighting with the coffeemaker, never quite able to figure it out without Dean’s help.

He sighs at himself and mutters, “No, we’re not going to do that.” He presses the button for the crosswalk instead, standing a few feet back from the curb as he waits for the light to change.

Cas is still lying in bed when he gets home. He sits on the edge of the bed and frowns down at him. “Didn’t you have work today?”

“I did,” Cas says into his pillow.

“So what happened?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t go,” Cas says.

“I can see that,” Dean says. He feels annoyance bubbling up but swallows against it, silently scolding himself as he moves a little further onto the bed. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You okay?”

After a moment, Cas shifts closer to Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing his face against Dean’s hip. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know we need the money, I just couldn’t--”

“Hey,” Dean says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s all right. You eaten anything today?” Cas shakes his head, so Dean taps his arm gently. “Leggo a minute,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean heads to the kitchen and whips up a quick dinner -- eggs, toast, fruit. He brings it to the bedroom on a tray so they can eat in bed, and that’s where they spend the rest of the day, dozing and watching TV until it’s time to go to sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says once the lights are off and he’s curled around Dean with his face pressed against Dean’s chest, muffling his voice. “I’m not a very good guardian angel.”

“Sure you are,” Dean says. Cas _hmm_ s in a way that sounds a lot like a disagreement. Dean holds him a little tighter. He says, quietly, “I mean it.”

\--

Muted gray light filters in through the bedroom window, washing the color out of the room. Their neighbors finally managed to make it out the door, sudden silence replacing the sound of their muffled voices filtering through the wall.

Cas’ back is pressed against Dean’s chest, Dean’s arm curling around his waist, stroking slow circles against his stomach. “Hey, Cas?” Dean asks quietly.

“Mmm.”

“What happened to your wings?”

Cas tenses. He’s still and silent for a long time before he finally says, “That’s a story for another time.”

“All right,” Dean says. He keeps moving his hand in slow circles, waiting for Cas to relax. When he does, Dean slides his hand lower. He dips his fingers below the waistband of Cas’ boxers and brushes them gently against the skin there until Cas huffs a frustrated sigh and pushes Dean’s hand lower himself.

Dean breathes a laugh against Cas’ hair, kisses the back of his neck. He strokes Cas slow and easy, shifting to trail kisses down his spine. When he presses his lips to the spot between Cas’ shoulder blades, Cas shudders beneath him.

\--

Dean hogs the entire couch while Cas is at work. He balances a bowl of popcorn on his stomach, chewing idly as he watches _The Gods Must Be Crazy._

Xi has just started his journey when there’s a knock at the door. Dean hits pause and gets up to open it, and as soon as it swings open, his breath catches.

If you asked him any other time how long it’d been, it would only take him a few moments to give you an answer down to the day. Right now, though, he can’t even manage to string a sentence together, because there, standing in his doorway, is Sam. A couple decades older and a couple feet taller, but it’s unmistakably him.

Sam lets out a shaky, breathless laugh. “Dean,” he says, and surges forward to wrap Dean in a hug.

For a second Dean just stands there, frozen. A hysterical laugh bubbles up out of him. “Holy shit,” he breathes, finally hugging Sam back.

When they part, Sam looks away, down at the ground, running a hand through his hair. “Uh,” he says, shifting from one foot to another. “I know this is kind of a big surprise, but I just, um…”

“It’s-- I mean, don’t-- don’t even stress it,” Dean says. “You wanna come in? We’ve got...Jesus. A whole hell of a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah, we do. That’d be great.”

Dean steps aside to let Sam in. “So, uh, this is my place,” he says, scratching at the back of his head. He gestures to each room as he gives a brief tour. “Bathroom’s back there,” he says, “Kitchen here, and the living room. Bedroom’s through that door, obviously.” Sam nods along, smiling. Dean clears his throat. “My, uh-- my roommate is at work right now, but he’ll be home pretty soon, and if you wanna stick around, I can make us all dinner? But if you want a snack or something--”

“That sounds great,” Sam says. He takes a seat at the table while Dean gets to work.

As he pulls out the broccoli and carrots, Dean asks, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Well, um,” Sam says. “I finished my undergrad and JD at Stanford. Wound up working as an associate attorney at this huge prestigious law firm out in California, but…”

“Let me guess,” Dean says as he starts chopping the vegetables. “You hated it.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Yeah, to put it mildly,” he says. “Guess they call jobs in big law ‘the golden handcuffs’ for a reason. And anyway, it just didn’t feel right. I wound up leaving as soon as I could afford it.”

“Yeah?” Dean says.

“Yeah. Moved to Kansas City and got a job for a much smaller firm. Our clients are mostly local family-owned businesses who’ve been screwed by nationwide companies, and this kinda work just...it feels better, you know?” Dean nods as Sam continues, “Anyway, I made partner a few years back. I’ve actually got time now to do pro-bono stuff on the side, which is nice. And the firm is just...it’s better. The people there practically feel like family.”

“That’s great,” Dean says, pulling the dip from the fridge.

“Yeah, it is,” Sam says. He hesitates as Dean grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet. “And, um. I got married.”

Dean looks up at him. “Oh, wow,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “Congrats, man. What’s her name?”

“Jessica,” Sam says, face lighting up. As Dean brings everything over and sets it on the table between them, he adds, “I’d love for you to meet her.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, taking a seat. “Of course. I’d love to.”

Sam grabs a piece of broccoli. “So, Dean,” he says, smiling, eyes bright. “How about you?”

The bottom of Dean’s stomach drops out. He looks down at the table, pretends to be torn between a chip and a carrot.

He doesn’t know how to tell his successful lawyer brother that all he has to show for himself is a shitty call-center job and a shittier apartment that he’s only managed to keep because a literal angel fell into his life, so instead, he says, “Oh, you know, uh. Moved around a lot, wound up here not too long ago. Guess being so far from home didn’t feel right to me either, y’know?” Sam makes a noise of agreement, and Dean adds, “Not that I’m complaining, but how’d you find me, anyway?”

“Um,” Sam says, looking down at the table, face reddening. “I tried a lot of times over the years, actually, just never quite managed it. But now that you’ve settled down in one spot, got an address and utility accounts under your name, it was a hell of a lot easier.” He shrugs. “I had access to Westlaw and the firm pays for the subscription, so…”

“Wow,” Dean says. “That’s the nerdiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam says, looking up at him. “I’m not the one with the living room covered in--” he leans to look out into said room-- “ _Star Wars_ and _Indiana Jones_ and _Die Hard_ posters--”

Dean rolls his eyes and throws a napkin at him. He squawks as it bounces off his cheek, laughing as Dean grins.

“Anyway,” Dean says quietly, smile fading, “I looked for you, too, you know.”

Sam’s expression shifts, smile turning sad. “I kinda figured,” he says. “I, uh. I actually changed my name a long time ago to make it harder to find me. For what it’s worth, it wasn’t you I was worried about, but...Sorry.”

“Hey, I get it,” Dean says, shrugging. “What’d you change it to?”

“Sam Campbell.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Good choice.”

Sam nods as he grabs a carrot, chewing thoughtfully for a little before asking, “Hey, so, um. While we’re on the subject. Dad?”

Dean shrugs. “He kicked it, um. A while back.”

“Oh,” Sam says. “I mean, I kinda figured he would, but.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “Anyway, speaking of nerdy shit. Me and Cas are part of this awesome D&D campaign set in Oz.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam says, perking up a little.

“Yeah. My friend Charlie runs it, gets really into it and does character voices and everything. You’d love her, she’s just as much of a dork as you are.”

“That’s awesome,” Sam says, grinning. “A couple of friends of mine tried to get a campaign up and running in college, but it never quite got off the ground.”

“Bummer,” Dean says.

“No kidding,” Sam says. He grabs a piece of broccoli, popping it into his mouth as he adds, “Hey, gimme just a sec. Gotta, uh--” He gestures in the direction of the bathroom.

Dean nods. “I’ll be here,” he says.

As soon as Sam closes the bathroom door, Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. With shaking hands, he texts Cas, **hey I promise it’s nothing bad and I’m fine but can u come home asap?** He bounces his feet against the floor, does a quick Google search on his phone as he waits for a response. Just as Sam is walking back into the kitchen, Cas responds, **I’m on my way now.**

“Hey,” Dean says. “Cas is on his way back.”

“Cool,” Sam says. “I’d love to meet him.”

\--

Dean and Sam pause in the middle of a conversation about the merits of the movie adaptations of Tolkien’s works as Cas shuts the front door and makes his way to the dining room.

“Hey,” Dean says, turning to greet him, but as soon as he sees Cas’ face, he pauses. Cas is standing frozen in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, staring at Sam with wide eyes.

A few moments pass in awkward silence until Dean says, “You uh. You okay?”

Cas lets out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, smiling uncertainly. “It’s just-- you reminded me of someone, that’s all.”

Sam nods as he finally unfolds himself from the kitchen chair and moves towards Cas. “Hey, don’t sweat it. You must be Castiel,” he says, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m--”

“Sam,” Cas says, and pulls him into a hug. Sam laughs, patting him on the back. When they part, Cas smiles up at him warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Sam says.

“Of course,” Cas says, still smiling.

“Hey, why don’t you guys go relax in the living room?” Dean says, gesturing towards the couch as he stands from the table. “Get to know each other a little while I make dinner.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “You need any help in the kitchen?”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Dean says.

“All right,” Sam says, heading for the couch. “Just shout if you need anything.”

Dean nods and retreats into the kitchen, standing for a moment with his palms pressed against the counter as he figures out what to cook. By the time he’s settled on quesadillas, Sam and Cas are chatting amicably in the living room. He listens carefully as he starts pulling out ingredients for dinner, catching snippets of their conversation -- Cas asking about Sam’s job and about Jessica, Sam asking Cas how he wound up in Lawrence, how he met Dean.

Dean’s just about done cooking the chicken when he picks up on a shift in the conversation. He isn’t sure how the subject of cars came up, but he catches Sam saying, “Oh, man, our dad used to have this ‘67 Impala. We basically lived out of that car for years.”

“Oh, Dean still has it,” Cas says. “Kept her in pristine condition.”

“No way,” Sam says. A few seconds later, he appears in the doorway to the kitchen to add, “Dude, you gotta show me.”

Dean grins. “Okay, but hold your horses until after dinner.”

Sam nods and dutifully returns to the couch, continuing his conversation with Cas until Dean announces he’s just about done cooking. Sam returns to sits at the table while Cas excuses himself to get washed up, and as Dean cuts the quesadillas into manageable slices, Sam asks, casually, “So, how long have you and Cas been together?”

For a moment, Dean freezes. He realizes, suddenly, how stupid he’s been. Of course it’s obvious -- here they are, living together in this one room apartment, and the way Cas had talked about him when Sam asked how they met--

Dean clears throat. “Um. A few months, I think? It feels like it’s been longer than that. I guess ‘cause he’s been living here over a year now, and, uh--” Dean shrugs-- “I dunno. Already wouldn’t feel the same without him.”

“I get that,” Sam says. “And that’s great, Dean. It’s obvious you guys really care about each other. I’m really happy for you.”

Dean mumbles his thanks and, mercifully, is saved by Cas returning from the bathroom.

\--

Dean pulls the cover off the Impala with a “Ta da.”

“Oh, wow,” Sam says, a smile spreading across his face as he steps closer, touches his fingertips to her hood. “Cas wasn’t kidding. She’s immaculate.”

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I mean it,” Sam says. “This is incredible.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him all along,” Cas says.

“You should listen to him, Dean,” Sam says as he walks around the Impala. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

“All right, all right,” Dean says. “You guys win. I’m amazing.”

Sam grins, tapping his knuckles to the roof. “Can I see inside?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says. He unlocks the doors and steps back, standing next to Cas as he watches Sam slide into the driver’s seat, run his hands over the steering wheel and the dash, smiling the whole time.

\--

“Well,” Sam says, after the Impala is once again locked and covered, “I’ve got a case going to trial next week, so, uh. I really gotta get back.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Sorry again about just showing up unannounced,” Sam says. “But I’m really glad I did.”

Dean nods, smiles. “Me, too. It was great having you over.”

“We’ll have to do it again sometime soon. Maybe all four of us can get together for dinner?”

“Sure,” Dean says. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“Great,” Sam says, grinning. “It was nice meeting you, too, Cas.”

Cas smiles back at him. “And you, Sam.”

Sam pulls Dean into a hug, then Cas. They say their final goodbyes, and then Dean and Cas watch Sam drive off, waving, before heading back into the apartment.

As soon as they get back inside, Dean lets out a shaky breath, leaning back against the door and running his hands through his hair. Cas immediately crowds up into Dean’s space, takes his face in his hands, strokes his thumbs across his cheekbones.

“Dean,” Cas says, quietly. “Are you all right?”

Dean curls one hand around Cas’ waist and rests the other over one of Cas’, leaning their foreheads together.

“I--” Dean has to pause, clear his throat. “Sam found me on Westlaw, Cas. I Googled what that means while he was in the bathroom. Those Westlaw reports, they don’t just--” a half-laugh shakes its way out of him-- “they don’t just give phone numbers and addresses. They show people you’re connected to, the places you’ve worked, your-- your fucking criminal history--”

Dean stops short as Cas pulls back, fingers pressing against Dean’s jaw, encouraging him to look up and meet his eyes. “If that mattered to Sam,” Cas says, voice steady, “he wouldn’t have come.”

Dean takes a shaky breath. He nods and pulls Cas closer, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Cas turns so he can kiss Dean properly. Dean closes his eyes and kisses back, opens his mouth when Cas licks at his bottom lip. When Cas moves to start trailing kisses down his neck, Dean asks, “You think he’s actually gonna call?”

Cas stops what he’s doing. Dean makes a noise of protest, but Cas ignores it. “Dean,” he says. “Look at me.” He waits for Dean to open his eyes, and then he says, “I love you. And Sam does, too. How could he not?”

Dean swallows audibly. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

Cas nods and leans in again, kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth and along his jaw as he undoes his jeans. He drops to his knees and sucks Dean off right there against the door, Dean coming with his fingers tangled in Cas’ hair, Cas’ hands steady on his thighs, holding him up.

\--

Afterwards, Cas sweeps Dean up into his arms like it’s nothing. He carries him, laughing tiredly, to their room, deposits him on the bed, and pulls his clothes the rest of the way off. He gets into bed next to Dean and curls around him, one arm wrapped around his chest, hand resting over his heart.

Dean is the one to break the silence. “Things got messy after my-- after our mom died,” he says, idly running his fingers along Cas’ arm. “My dad got kind of caught up in the idea it was someone’s fault. That if he just looked hard enough, he’d find someone he could blame, someone he could track down and punish. It was the most important thing to him, you know?” He shrugs. “Even more important than us, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says quietly.

“It’s whatever,” Dean says flatly. “It was a long time ago.” He hears Cas inhale behind him as though he means to say something, but Dean beats him to it. “Anyway,” he continues, “we wound up bouncing around for a while, back and forth between foster care and our dad. But it eventually got to the point where I was just-- I mean, people just didn’t want to deal with some teenage delinquent any more. So we just stuck it out with our dad for a while, and then one day Sam just up and disappeared. Packed up his backpack and ran away. And I--” Dean lets out a shaky breath, tightens his fingers against Cas’ wrist.

“You looked for him,” Cas says.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “‘Course I did. I called around to people we’d stayed with before, old foster families and friends and stuff. I read the papers looking for just-- anything, I guess. Even called the police and made a report when dad wouldn’t.”

“And?”

“And that was it. Nothing came of it. I remember--” Dean presses his hand against his face, laughs humorlessly-- “I remember exactly how it felt when I finally figured out Sam didn’t want to be found.”

“And now here he is.”

“Now here he is,” Dean says.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Cas says.

Dean snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Mmm,” Cas says. “I’m proud of you.”

“What the fuck for?” Dean says.

“For everything you’ve done,” Cas says. “For managing to be the person you are even after everything you’ve been through. For having your brother show up on your doorstep out of the blue nearly twenty years since you last saw him and taking it in stride.”

“You call that taking it in stride?” Dean asks.

“You did.”

“Bullshit.”

“I mean it,” Cas says. “You were great.”

“You’re biased.”

Cas huffs a laugh against the back of Dean’s neck. “Everyone is biased,” he says. “But surely that doesn’t mean they can’t ever be right.”

Dean sighs dramatically. “Okay, fine. You got me.”

“Checkmate,” Cas agrees. After a moment he asks, more seriously, “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Dean admits.

“So let’s go to bed,” Cas says.

“We’re already in bed.”

“You know what I meant,” Cas says. Dean can hear the eyeroll in his voice.

“We haven’t brushed our teeth,” Dean says.

“I think we’ll live.”

“But what kind of life will it be?” Dean asks.

Cas sighs, breath tickling Dean’s skin. “Are you going to turn off the light or not?”

Dean grins to himself as he reaches over to turn off the lamp. He settles back against Cas, holds Cas’ hand in his own, stroking his thumb against Cas’ knuckles with his thumb. He lies awake until Cas’ breathing starts to even out as he drifts off to sleep.

“Hey,” Dean says quietly as he finally starts to doze. Cas makes a sleepy noise of assent from behind him. “Love you, too.”

\--

A member of the resistance has been captured, and their little group of adventurers has been tasked with rescuing them.

The witch has other plans. Her forces have the place surrounded. They’re hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned, but they’re determined to find a solution. After an intense brainstorming session, they come up with a plan.

They’ve decided they need a distraction. It’s not without risk, but they decide to send Cas in to draw the enemies away, reasoning that he can simply teleport away before he gets into real trouble. That should give them enough time to find their captured ally and escape unnoticed.

Cas chuckles under his breath as he leans over to whisper to Dean. “This is like the time we--” he starts, but then he cuts himself short, brow furrowed.

“The time we what?” Dean asks.

“I--” Cas says. “Nothing. I was just...thinking of something else.”

“Okay,” Dean says, frowning. He watches Cas out of the corner of his eye for the rest of the night. He’s quiet after that, only engaging with the game when he absolutely has to. Mostly, he just sits in silence, drinking his beer and staring down at the table.

Dean only realizes Cas has had more to drink than he thought once they decide to call it a night. Cas sways as he stands, stumbles a little as they head to the car.

“You okay?” Dean asks as they get in, and gets only a muttered “I’m fine” in response.

He’s silent on the drive back, too. He watches Dean from the passenger seat as Dean drives, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

Cas is worse by the time they make it back to the apartment, Dean needing to keep a steadying hand on Cas’ arm to help him walk up to their door. Once they get inside, he falls against Dean, clinging to his shirt.

“I miss you so much sometimes it feels like-- like I’m--” Cas slurs through something Dean can’t quite make out-- “and I don’t know how to get back to you-- I don’t know how to get home--”

Dean laughs uncomfortably. “Hey,” he says. “I’m right here. I’m here and we’re home.”

Cas pulls back just far enough to look up at Dean. As he sways on his feet, his face falls and his breath hitches.

“Hey,” Dean says, pulling Cas close. He half holds him up with one arm and runs his other hand up and down Cas’ back soothingly while Cas takes one deep breath after another. He makes it through a dozen or so before he tenses, fingers tightening on Dean’s arms.

“You need to throw up?” Dean asks. Cas nods against his shoulder. “All right. C’mon.” He gently urges Cas to standing and helps him to the bathroom. Cas immediately doubles over in front of the toilet, retching as Dean rubs his back.

When he’s finally done throwing up, Dean leaves Cas to take a piss while he gets him a glass of water. He makes him drink it and take a couple ibuprofen, ignoring the quiet, desperate way Cas is looking at him every time their eyes meet.

\--

Cas is, unsurprisingly, incredibly hungover.

“You gonna be okay while I go to work?” Dean asks. Cas mumbles a “Yes” into his pillow, so Dean presses a kiss to his hair and gets out of bed.

He makes it through getting ready for work, eating breakfast, and locking the apartment door behind himself, but he hesitates once he’s standing on the stoop. He bounces his keys in his hand a few times, and then he pulls his phone from his pocket and calls Victor.

“Hey, uh, sorry for the short notice,” Dean says, “but something came up and I’m not gonna be able to make it in today.”

“You okay?” Victor asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just--”

“Cas okay?”

“I dunno,” he admits. “It’s not life-threatening or anything, it’s just, uh--”

“Hey man, it’s cool,” Victor says. “You don’t need to explain. I know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. It’s slow here, anyway.”

Dean sighs in relief. “Thanks, Vic.”

“Don’t sweat it. Cya soon.”

“Later,” Dean says, ending the call and heading back into the apartment.

\--

Dean lets Cas sleep while he makes him breakfast -- eggs and sausage, toast and hashbrowns. Once he’s done, he piles everything onto a tray and carries it into the bedroom.

“Hey, sit up,” Dean says. Cas grumbles something incoherent in response, so Dean adds, “C’mon, eating’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

Cas sighs and rolls over, scoots so he’s sitting up, and runs a hand through his hair as Dean sets the tray in front of him. He squints down at it and says, “Coffee?”

Dean shakes his head, taps the glass sitting next to the plates of food. “Water first,” he says, then adds, “Here,” as he hands Cas a couple ibuprofen.

Cas sighs, but he takes the pills, puts them in his mouth and chugs the water. When he’s done, he holds the empty glass out to Dean and repeats, “Coffee?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “All right,” he says, taking the glass from Cas and getting up. “Eat your food.”

\--

Cas finishes his breakfast and showers at Dean’s insistence. It’s only after he’s cleaned and they’re sitting on the couch, Cas leaning with his head on Dean’s shoulder, something on for background noise, that Dean says, “You wanna talk about whatever’s going on?”

Cas is quiet for so long that Dean thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep again. When he finally speaks, he says, simply, “No.”

Dean holds Cas’ hand in his own, brushes his thumb against Cas’ knuckles. “Yeah, I figured,” he says. “And I get it, I swear. But I think maybe you should, anyway.”

Cas falls silent again. After a while he inhales loudly like he’s about to say something, but then he lets out a sighing breath and keeps quiet. Dean waits patiently until, a few minutes later, Cas says, “I don’t know how to explain.”

“Hey, I don’t mean to put you on the spot,” Dean says. “You have time to think about it.”

Cas nods against Dean’s shoulder. They sit quietly, the TV on in the background. As one episode ends and another begins, Cas finally speaks.

“When I...came here,” he says. “I, um--” he inhales and exhales audibly, falls silent.

Dean gives him a few breaths and then prompts, gently, “When you came here? To Kansas? Or to Earth?”

“To this Earth, yes,” Cas says. “I-- there were a lot of things I left behind. Things I cared about. People I loved.”

“And you can’t go back,” Dean says.

“No,” Cas says. “So everything I left undone, it’s-- it’s always going to be undone. There are mistakes I’ll never be able to correct. Words I’ll never be able to say. People I--” He stops again, swallows hard. Curls his fingers tighter against Dean’s own. “I wasn’t ready to let go,” Cas says, voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly. “Jesus, Cas, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cas says.

“What was it you said?” Dean asks. “‘It wasn’t an admission of guilt--’”

Cas barks out a humorless laugh, breath hitching. He presses closer to Dean and lapses back into silence.

\--

Dean has more than one wound that didn’t heal quite right. There are fine lines on his knuckles from his younger days, a finger he broke that healed a little crooked, the line on his hand from back in December, scars on his knees from a few falls he took particularly hard.

Cas, on the other hand, has just the one scar. Or two, depending how you look at it -- one on his back, right over his spine, a smooth circle so faint you might not even notice it unless you knew where to look, and another on his chest to match. Dean has never quite been able to find the words to ask Cas how he isn’t dead.

He holds Cas close later that night, presses up against his back with his arm draped across his waist, fingers held carefully away from old wounds.

“I left them in Washington,” Cas says, murmuring it into the dark. “By a lake a few hours out of Seattle.”

“What?” Dean asks.

“My wings. I…” Cas breathes in deep, lets it all out in a rush. “I fell.”

“Oh,” Dean says, hand stilling. He’s heard of things like this -- of angels deciding to fall, to be reborn as humans with no memory of what they used to be. He’s never heard of anything quite like Cas, though. “Uh,” he says, finally. “On purpose?”

“No.” After a long stretch of silence, Cas adds, “There are things I would have fallen for willingly, though.”

“Yeah?” Dean says.

Cas nods. He takes Dean’s hand in his own, pulls it up to his face. He presses a kiss to Dean’s palm before moving their joined hands back down, settling them over the scar on his chest. Beneath their entwined fingers, Dean can feel Cas’ heart beating, slow and steady.

\--

“Everything is going to be fine,” Cas tells Dean for the millionth time as he pulls on a pair of slacks.

They’re getting ready to meet Sam and Jessica for dinner at a restaurant Dean knows he isn’t nearly fancy enough for. He looked it up on Google and Yelp, examining one picture after another to get an idea of the interior, the food, the dress code. He even dragged Cas to the store so they could both get nicer clothes for the occasion -- pants without worn seams, shirts without discoloration around the collars.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Dean says as he finishes buttoning up his shirt.

Cas turns to smooth down his collar. “You can,” he says. “You can go and eat dinner and talk to your brother and let him pay for your food, because he cares about you and wants to do something nice for you.” Dean starts to protest, but Cas simply repeats, “It’s going to be fine.”

“What if I get wine drunk?” Dean asks petulantly.

“Then I’ll call us a cab and get us a room.”

“Ugh,” Dean says. “What a waste. Guess I’ll keep my wits about me.”

“Appreciated,” Cas says, grabbing his phone and wallet as he heads for the door. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

\--

They meet up with Sam and Jessica at the restaurant, both of them smiling warmly as they approach, hugging Dean and Cas in turn. They head inside and sit around a table after introductions have been made, chatting idly as they look over the menu.

“So, Jessica,” Cas says, as they’re waiting for their appetizers to arrive, “Sam said you’re a nurse?”

Jessica nods, smiles. “Pediatric oncology.”

“Wow,” Dean says. “Sounds like a huge bummer.”

To Dean’s surprise, Jessica laughs. “I won’t lie,” she says. “It can be. It can also be hugely rewarding, but some days are...Well, ‘hard’ would be an understatement.”

“I hope you two aren’t planning to have kids,” Dean says. “Bet that’d make it even harder.”

Jessica pauses, pursing her lips. “Wait,” she says, “Sam didn’t tell you about our baby?”

Dean nearly spits out his sip of water. “What?” he croaks.

Jessica calmly pulls out her phone, face lighting up as she pulls up her pictures. “Here,” she says, holding her phone out to Dean. “His name is Oliver.”

Dean takes the phone and glances down at it. An adorable face grins up at him from the screen.

“Oh my God,” Dean groans. When he looks up, Jessica is shaking with silent laughter. Sam is rolling his eyes at her, but he’s smiling. “I see you both have the same terrible sense of humor,” he adds drily. “You’re perfect for one another.”

Cas leans over, frowning at first until he gets a glimpse of the screen. He stifles a laugh as he looks at the picture of Oliver -- Sam and Jessica’s pit bull. “He’s very handsome,” Cas says seriously.

“Sorry, sorry, that was mean,” Jessica says, taking back her phone. “Anyway. How about you? Tell us about yourselves. What do you do, Dean?”

“I, uh…” Dean says. He trails a finger through the condensation on the side of his glass. “I mean, nothing special. Just a call center job, helping people when they can’t figure out how to get their internet to work and stuff.” He shrugs.

“Wow,” Jessica says. Dean looks up at the sincerity in her voice. “You must have the patience of a saint.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. Before he can stop himself, he adds, “Anyway, what I’d really like to do is go to college, you know? Maybe get a degree in mechanical engineering or something.”

Sam smiles at him across the table. “That’d be awesome,” he says.

Cas nods. “If your work on the Impala is any indication, you’d be great at it.”

“Wait,” Jessica says. “The Impala?”

Dean grins, pulling out his phone and bringing up his gallery. “My turn,” he says.

\--

Sam pulls Dean to the side as they’re leaving the restaurant. Dean walks with him down the sidewalk and then stands there, shifting from foot to foot, as he tries not to lean to look past Sam to where Cas is standing chatting amicably with Jessica.

“Hey, um,” Sam says, drawing Dean’s attention back to him. “I just wanted to…” He takes a deep breath, looks down at his feet, scuffs his shoe against the sidewalk. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Dean frowns. “What for?”

“For bailing on you.”

Dean opens his mouth to ask Sam what he means, but then it clicks. “You were just a kid.”

“So were you,” Sam says. When Dean merely shrugs, Sam adds, “You shouldn’t have had to deal with all that alone. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“None of it was fair,” Dean says. “To either of us. But hey, you turned out all right, huh?” He forces himself to look up at Sam and smile. “That’s what counts.”

Sam smiles back at him. “Yeah,” he says. “So did you, Dean.”

Dean laughs uncomfortably, but he cuts himself short when he sees the way Sam is smiling at him, lopsided and painfully earnest.

“It’s great to finally have my big brother back,” Sam says.

“Yeah, it’s-- same here, Sammy,” Dean says. He lets himself be pulled into a hug, chin tucked against Sam’s shoulder. He meets Cas’ gaze for a brief moment before squeezing his eyes shut and hugging Sam back tightly.

\--

They get home late in the evening and strip out of their fancy clothes, hanging them back up in the closet and changing into their pajamas. They collapse onto the couch, Cas grabbing the remote to search for a movie to put on.

They’re half an hour into _Mad Max: Fury Road_ when Dean takes a deep breath and says, “You get that this is it for me, right?”

“What do you mean?” Cas says, not looking away from the screen.

“I know what I said at dinner,” Dean says, rubbing his palms against his thighs, “but I’m not-- I’m never going to go back to school, you know? I’m always gonna be a dropout with nothing but a GED. And my dead-end job isn’t--” Cas pauses the movie, turns to look at Dean. Dean keeps his gaze fixed resolutely on his knees. “It isn’t some temporary thing while I’m looking for something better, for my real job or my career or whatever. This _is_ my real job. It’s the best I’m ever gonna do. And I’m never gonna have a house and two point five kids and a dog. I’m just going to keep living in shitty apartments from now until-- until--” he raises one hand, drops it back onto his leg-- “until forever.”

In his peripheral vision, Dean can see Cas frowning at him. He starts to say, “You don’t know--”

“Yeah, man, I do,” Dean says, sighing. “And you lying to me about it isn’t doing me any favors, okay? I’m just--” he pauses, swallows hard-- “like I said. This is it. My life’s not going anywhere.”

Cas considers him for a few long moments before he looks down and covers Dean’s hand with his own, curling his fingers against Dean’s palm. He rubs his thumb across Dean’s knuckles slowly, carefully. “I like it here,” Cas says quietly.

Dean inhales shakily, lets it all out in a rush as he looks down at Cas’ hand on his own. He closes his eyes, leans over and lays his head on Cas’ shoulder, presses his forehead against Cas’ neck.

Cas settles his cheek against Dean’s hair. He murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere, either.”

\--

“Do you think you can get a few days off work later this month?” Cas asks one evening over dinner.

“Uh, I guess?” Dean says. “Why?”

“I was lying before,” Cas says, taking another bite of his food. “I actually do want a vacation. And I’ve saved enough for us to take a short one.”

“Cas…” Dean starts.

“Dean.”

“That’s great and all, but I, uh,” Dean says. He pushes his food around with his fork. “I haven’t been saving. I don’t-- I don’t have anything to spare.”

“That’s because you’re paying half the rent but all of the utilities,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “And you do nearly all of the grocery shopping, and you have to pay for car insurance and I don’t, and you added me to your phone plan but won’t let me give you any money for it--”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says. “Get to the point.”

“My point is that you should let me take you on a vacation.”

Dean watches as Cas eats. “Yeah,” he says finally. “All right.”

\--

They both manage to coordinate a few days off, and a couple weeks later, they pack up their bags and hop in the car.

They take a day and a half driving down to South Padre, spending the night between sleeping in the Impala. They celebrate their arrival with dinner at a local restaurant, and once they’ve finished the best fish sandwiches Dean has ever eaten, they head to the Airbnb Cas has booked. They’ve got a private room in a house near the beach, and the owners welcome them warmly, introduce them to their dogs, give them the tour.

They next day, they’re getting ready to head down to the beach, and Dean comes out of the bathroom to find Cas wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt he’s ever seen -- a familiar patchwork of four different patterns in four different colors.

“I know that shirt,” Dean says, stepping towards Cas to take a closer look. “Hell, I wish I could forget that shirt.” At Cas’ smug look, Dean rolls his eyes. “When did you get that monstrosity?”

“I went back to the Goodwill a few weeks ago,” Cas says. “Luckily, they still had it.”

“Oh my God, Cas,” Dean groans. “There’s a reason no one had bought it.”

“I guess it was just meant to be,” Cas says. “Also, I have a surprise.” He turns to his bag and pulls out another shirt nearly as ugly as his own, holding it out to Dean. “For you.”

“Oh my God,” Dean repeats. Cas simply laughs, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he shoves the shirt into Dean’s hands.

Dean takes it, heaving a sigh, and puts it on.

\--

Dean and Cas head down to the beach. They sit next to one another in the shade of their rented umbrella, watching as some nearby kids make sand angels.

Cas looks at the disrupted sand contemplatively once the kids have gotten up to play in the water. He says, quietly, “Mine were much bigger than that.”

“Yeah?” Dean says. Cas nods and leans back to lie on the warm sand, closing his eyes. Dean looks down at him, watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

After a moment, Dean pushes himself up to standing, Cas opening his eyes to watch him curiously. He starts at Cas’ shoulders and moves outwards, drags his hands through the sand, starting with vague shapes and adding details as he goes, careful not to disturb his work with his feet as he moves.

He stands over Cas once he’s done, looking at the wings he’s drawn in the sand, stretching out from where Cas lies. “So,” he says. “What do you think?”

Cas leans up on his elbows, looking to either side for a long moment before lying back down. He looks up at Dean and smiles as he says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Dean makes a sound of surprise that turns into a laugh as Cas grabs his hand, pulls him down next to him on the sand.

**Author's Note:**

> [here's](http://domesticadventures.tumblr.com/post/166765717927/) the masterpost for this fic on tumblr if you feel inclined to reblog!


End file.
